Irony Becomes Her
by starmouse
Summary: Buffy. Spike. Multiple Slayers, DemonBuffy, and a touch of rude language. Irony abounds. - Chapter 33 has arrived!
1. Introduction to this little soap bubble ...

Irony Becomes Her

Welcome to my own personal Buffy~verse, breaking off from the Jossverse after season six ends.

I've always been better at starting in the middle of plots and working my way forward from there. This story is going to be the sequel to another story, that, if you'll investigate, you'll find was never actually written. Allow me to explain.

This whole speculation~based, 'Spike-comes-back-from-Africa,-he's-all  
remorseful,-Buffy-doesn't-like-him-at-first,-then-realizes-that-she's-loved him-all-along' thing is getting kind of old. But I am very much in favor of a Buffy/Spike ship. So. To avoid the aforesaid plot, I have taken a few liberties. Because I can. It's a fanfic. My fanfic. I'm a rabid BtVS fan. I can do whatever darn-well I want, and people will back nervously away from my frothing mouth and wild eyes.

Pretend Spike did get his soul, comes back to Sunnydale, still desperate to prove his love to Buffy, who still hates him for various reasons, not the least of which being the fact that he left in the first place. . . 

. . . Then, things change.

1. Spike falls out of love with Buffy. ( *Awww* )

2. Buffy falls in to love with Spike. ( *Yay!* ) 

Note: She did not love him before, no matter what her insightful sort~of~sister thinks about it all. She was using him, and his love for her, for her own selfish, bitchy reasons. But when he gets back, she falls totally in love with him, bordering on (but in no way beating) his initial obsession with her. Think Gone With the Wind. 

So the tables have turned, Buffy no longer being a bitch, Spike acting indifferent to her, everyone else just sort of there.

Another thing. Away with the weepy Willow, 'I nearly destroyed the world, aren't I terrible?' thing. And away with Xander/Anya tensions. He apologizes. He grovels. She makes that 'well...' noise. He proposes again. She says yes. They get over it. They're planning another wedding. A better wedding. Nay, a wedding to end *all* weddings.

Giles, realizing that, hey, the Sunnydale world really will fall apart without him there, moves back from England, for the sake of all humanity. He, due to long and involved and actually quite funny circumstances --which I haven't actually figured out yet, but may allude to-- is now a bar~tender at Willy's. He has cleverly renamed it 'Rupert's.' He makes a mean O+ cocktail, and many of the regulars remark upon how clean the glasses always are. It seems like he's always wiping one off...

The gang gets cell phones. Finally. The rest of the free world has cell phones, and they were still running around looking for phone booths and stuff. Think back on all the apocalypses they could have nipped in the bud if they could communicate instantaneously. But, however much decorative cell phones are becoming the true windows to the soul, Dawn got to pick theirs out, and they don't exactly match people.

And, because I like the Buffybot, and think she's funny, she's back. Use your imaginations. Think of some good explanation for it. I'd love to hear it. I'm sure it's very interesting. While you're at it, try to figure out why that day in season one, when Buffy was turned into a vampire, courtesy her nightmares, she didn't combust in the sunlight. I've been wondering about that ever since it happened. Ah well. On with the shenanigans.  
You'll notice I'm a bit peeved at Buffy. She was being a rotten person in Season Six.

...And now you know what I consider necessary background information. Turn back now, before it's too late.

~Star Mouse

@ @ @ [sick of asterisk dividers. Making my own rules. I'm a rebel.]

And so it begins, like all good stories, with a love~sick crybaby drowning kes sorrows in a bar.

Rupert Giles, ex-Librarian, ex-Watcher, ex-Magic Shop Owner, currently Bar Tender, set to work on a dirty shot glass with a vigor usually only reserved for his spectacles. He glanced over at the latest casualty in the soap opera that was, increasingly, life on the Hellmouth. He cleared his throat.

"Um. Perhaps you should think about... Stopping. At some point in the near future?" 

Buffy looked up at him. Her eyes were doing that thing he hated. That one where she's ready to cry, and all the color in her eyes and all the make-up she wears around them kind of blend, and her eyes look like deep black pits and shallow tide-pools at the same time. He raised his eyebrows.

"Or, perhaps not."

Buffy looked back down at her drink. 

She had wanted to try some of the blood, but Giles had been very firm on that point. And he wasn't letting her have alcohol, either. What kind of bar was he running, anyway? 

...The only one she could go to to get advice she valued. 

The only one she could think of that wasn't the Bronze, where she would see her friends. Her happy, wedding~planning friends. Cheerful friends.

Stupid friends. Being happy all over the place.

So the Slayer was attempting intoxication by Diet Coke. 

Wow, was she pathetic.

She had finally surrendered. Had _finally_ gotten over all those roadblocks, all the huge reasons why they could never work, and had just given in to it. She _never_ surrendered. She was a 'go-down-fighting' kinda gal. But for him, she had finally spread her arms (and legs) and said "You win." It had been the hardest thing she'd ever done, in ways, but once she admitted it to herself, the only thing left to do was to admit it to him:

She had fallen in love with him. 

She had fallen in love with Spike, and had finally told him what he had always begged her to tell him. Said exposure of self, complete surrender to the whirlwind that was him and the hurricane that was fate's idea of a test course for Buffy romance, and she had told him she loved him.

She nearly cried into her coke at the memory.

He had just stood there, outside the crypt where she'd acosted him, blinking at the emotional young woman in front of him, something glinting in his eyes...

...And then she'd recognised that glint, and nearly vomitted.

_Pity._

And he had turned her down. Totally. With no hint at future possibilities. He hadn't actually _said_ "I hate you," but the sentiment was there. It was the last thing she had ever expected, and the subject of all her nightmares since. 

Now that she had taken the leap she had been dreading, she couldn't stop. She was doing all that creepy stuff he had been doing to her. Well, not the stealing articles of clothing' thing, but the watching and stalking thing, sure. Now she knew what it had felt like, for him. A one-sided obsession. She needed him, and wanted him to need her, and he didn't.   
The only difference was, before, they had needed each other. She had needed him too. But now she loved him, and he could stand alone. 

There wouldn't be any relationship. Not even a meaningless one. 

She wanted to die. 

Well, or kill something.

She threw back another shot of Diet Coke, and tapped the glass against the counter. Giles looked up from his conversation with a slightly tipsy Danag demon and saw the empty glass. He sighed. She didn't really care what she was drinking, not really. And he knew it didn't matter what she was drinking. It was the principle of the thing. And, on principle, she had consumed enough Coke to lay her out of the floor. But he refilled her glass in silence. 

He wasn't going to try to talk to her yet. She needed to think before she could talk. He wasn't entirely sure what all of this was about, but he guessed that it had something to do with Spike. When he'd returned from England, things had been _very_ different from the Sunnydale social structure he remembered. And his Slayer had been in love with another vampire. Whenever she cried, now, it always had something to do with Spike.

It seemed like everything did, nowadays. For instance, this chappie here, Grlarnkmkun, seemed to think that very vampire was the subject of some prophecy he claimed to possess. By the sound of it, one that Giles himself was not familiar with. 

"Ah, now then, Mr. Grlarnkmkun, what was that you were saying about a prophecy?"

"She'lefme."

Giles blinked. He'd been speaking English just a moment ago, but that certainly sounded like Sumerian to him. "Pardon?"

"She *left* me. Me! Fer'a. . . Fer'a Yangkew. Ugly sunsbitches." 

"Oh! Oh, right. Well." Giles tried to slip back into bartender mode. He'd watched quite a bit of Cheers for material. He started back to work on the glass. "Well, why don't you tell me all about it?" His clipped off t's and general delivery didn't really do the phrase justice, but the demon seemed not to notice.

"Why'd she avda leave? I luver!"

"Oh, there there." As the yellow demon slumped against the bar, sobbing and making the wood his in protest to it's acidic tears, Giles tried to remember why he was running a demon bar. He continued cleaning glasses. The demon talked on.

"I mean- I mean- What'she se'in'im?" The demon turned teary fly-eyes on Giles, pleading.

He shook his head. "I have no idea. You are truly a very fine fellow. Perhaps she... just needed time. Now, Mr. Grlarnkmkun, do you remember what you were saying about a prophesy?"

"...*sniff*..."

"Mr. Grlarnkmkun? The prophesy."

"...Drusilla..."

Giles blinked. "Drusilla? The vampire? Is she in the prophesy? What about Drusilla?" Now he remembered why he was running a demon bar. Averting the Apocolypse, one day at a time. 

The demon just shook his yellow head mournfully.

"She left me."

Giles did a double take. "Drusilla is the young lady you've been refering to?" A sad, drunken nod. "Oh, for--" Giles slapped his towel down on the counter and looked around Britishly. He had much better things to do than discuss Drusilla with her latest leftovers. What _was_ the point of it all? He leaned down to lock eyes with the teary, yellow demon. 

"Please focus, Mr. Grlarnkmkun. A prophesy. Involving Spike? What do you know about it?"

The demon leaned away from Giles's fierce gaze, overbalencing and ending up on the floor. The other patrons of the establishment didn't even look around. Giles sighed, and walked around the counter. He hoisted the drunken sod back into his seat, being careful not to touch the poisoned barbs along each arm. He had learned from experience not to let a lead go. And he was not going to start now.

"Giles?" He turned. Buffy was standing behind him, holding her purse. 

"Buffy?"

"I'm gonna go patrol. Work out some stress. Thanks for the Coke. I, ah, put the money in the tip jar."

"Oh! Um, thank you. Yes. Very good. But do you ...really think you should patrol? You don't ... seem very focused." She really didn't. Her eyes were bleary and her hands holding the purse against her were slack. "Perhaps you should just head home. I'll put in a call to Xander."

"Nah. I can handle it. I'll call you tomorrow." 

"Buffy, you really shouldn't patrol alone. Are you sure you'd rather not go with Willow, or, or Spike, even?"

Buffy clenched her purse more tightly. "Nah. Catch ya later."

She left. 

The patrons all heaved a united sigh of relief. While the Slayer never actually started bar fights, she tended to end them very quickly, usually by the simple expedient of killing all involved. She had earned herself toleration at Rupert's, but things were a lot tenser when she was there. 

Giles looked around. He looked over at Grlarnkmkun. He sighed. If he wanted to know what the yellow demon was talking about, this would be a long night. 

But first... He pulled out his cell phone. There was a leopard-print cover on it. He couldn't remember how Dawn had persuaded him to accept it. Let's see... Speed dial. Buffy was 1, Xander was 2, Willow was 3, The Magic Box was 4, Dawn was 5, Angel Investigations was 7.

He pressed 6. 

@ @ @

  
It's a crypt. It's supposed to be quiet. 

A shrill rendition of 'Ode to Joy' rings through the silence. A corpse stirs and says, "Bugger." 

A cold, pale hand gropes over the edge of a tomb. It grabs a pink Hello Kitty cell phone. The phone pauses on it's way to the dead man's ear, as said dead man curses Dawn Summers and her sense of humor. 

Then, "Lo?"

Pause. "Yeah, Rupe, what's up?"

Pause. "Ah, no. No, can't imagine."

Pause. "No, I think she can take care of herself."

Pause. "Wull, she can."

Pause. "I didn't know librarians knew that word."

Pause. "Yehyeh. Alright. I'll play stalker. Right. Fine. You're over-reacting, you know." 

Pause. "I said I don't!"

There was a beep as Spike hung up the phone. 

He lay on the tomb for a moment, fingering the antenna. Then he stood up and grabbed his duster from the hook near the door and headed out to do Buffy duty.

@ @ @

Hope you liked it. More to come. Much more.

~Star Mouse 


	2. Fun at the Bar, and other stuff, I guess

**Chapter Two: Fun at the Bar, and other stuff, I guess.  
**  
All Characters except the ones you haven't heard of belong to Joss Whedon and Co. Not me. It's not like I'd want them, either. I mean, how would I feed them all?

~Star Mouse

  
@ @ @

Twelve cemetaries. All up for vampires. Spike living in one of them. Gee, which one should she patrol first?

She headed towards the one farthest from Spike's crypt. She'd work her way towards him. Save the best for last. And hope when she got there that he wouldn't look at her that _way_ he'd been recently. __

Pitying. While there were looks she hated worse, pity was pretty high up on her list of loathed emotions in other people. 

Wow, she was in the mood to kill something. 

And the hellmouth always obliges.

Three vampires leapt out of the shadows. Two crowded minutes passed. The dust settled. Buffy wiped her stake off on her pants. They were old pants. The dust and blood had made a paste. Good thing they were old pants. She walked on.

@ @ @

He could sense her. He had always been able to sense her. He'd thought it went along with being desperately in love with her. *Snort* Desperate was right. 

He could still sense her. But recently it was just a predator/prey instinct. Depending on her mood, their respective roles could change. Who was currently hunter or hunted.

She was hunting now, but she smelled like a human, not a Slayer. She was prey. It was a dangerous mood she was in. Self-pity could get her killed, out like this. Spike watched her from the shadows as she dusted a pair of vamps. She started to walk on, but then stopped. And looked straight at him, though she couldn't see him.

"Spike?"

He sighed, and stepped out of the shadows.

"Slayer."

"Hi." She ran a hand through her hair. "Um. What- what are you doing here?" Her hope was almost palpable. He hated to crush it, but he could no more let it live than kill her.

"Watcher sent me."

She covered it well. Her face barely flickered with the wave of dissappointment she felt.

"Damn. I told him I didn't need help. You can go on back to your crypt. I don't need a baby~sitter."

He didn't love her, but he didn't want to see her dead. Again.

He walked forward. "No, he was right. You're in no condition to patrol." 

"Gee, I wonder why," she muttered, looking at the ground.

And he broke. How many times had they been over this? Best end this one quickly. Volume seemed to help, to that end.

"Look, Slayer! I tol' you. I'm sorry, but it just won't work. I spent too bloody long being shot down by Buffy the Bitch." He turned around. God, she irritated him. How could he have spent so long just taking this bull?

"So this is, what, Payback?" He spun. There it was. That glint of a Slayer scorned.

"Nothing so vindictive," he sneered, as he was so good at doing, and started away, down the path between gravestones. It was her route, so she followed him.

"Then what is this? You don't just wake up one morning and stop loving someone!" She got a flash of dejavu. Junior year. Possessed by a ghost, acting out his final confrontation with his lover, played by Angelus. At the time, the situations had been oddly parallel. History repeating.

"No," drawled Spike, walking swiftly. "This is a brassed~off vampire gradually realizing that he has been in love with an utter bitch in hate with him. This is a vampire finally moving on with his unlife and not ready to scoot back a few miles to meet that bitch in the middle when she decides she' s ready to reciprocate."

He plunged on, relentlessly. "I loved you, you hated me. Do you think I enjoyed that? Sure, it was fine for you, made me easy to use. And you did. You treated me like dirt's trash. And I accepted it. I *did* enjoy it, you know it? Know why? Because I knew it was the best I could expect from you. You thought it was killing you? Ha! It was bloody _destroying_ me. You're a fickle, vicious woman, yeah, I see that now. And it's gon' to stop."

@ @ @

Giles had, after several minutes of sympathy, managed to get the yellow demon to hand over a small book of prophesies by some mad priest or another, but before he'd had a chance to look at it, there'd been a bit of a midnight rush, and he'd been too busy serving odd and foul~smelling drinks to odd and foul~smelling customers to think much about it.

And then there had been a rather loud sound, and someone had slammed onto the bar in front of him. But they had come from above, not either side.

He had caught a flustered glimpse of red fabric, and then a piece of the wall had become a hole, accompanied by more noise and bright light. 

Giles looked down at the unconcious young woman sprawled on the bar top. 

"Good Lord!"

@ @ @

"Xander! Xander!"

There was a muffled reply from the bathroom. Anya grabbed up a stack of bridal magazines and clacked into the bathroom. 

"Honey, do you like the--" She looked up. "Oh. Removing your facial hair? Good. You were getting kind of scratchy. But I'm tactful, so I didn't say anything."

Xander tapped his razer against the sink and carefully made another track in the foam on his chin.

"Thank you, Sweetie. I think I speak for all of us when I say, 'Congrats on the progress.' What were you saying?"

Anya held out two open magazines with post-it notes on the corners of the pages.

"These. They're the same price, same availability. I would like to know which you would prefer."

Xander looked down at the page. He blinked, and lowered his razor. "Is that a bridal magazine?"

"Uh huh. What do you think?"

"Anya, when we say bridal,' we mean with weddings. Not horses. You know that, right?"

"Yes. This is for the wedding. Our carraige is going to be pulled by two white horses I'm renting, and they need matching bridals. Do you like the white or the silver?"

"Woah. You lost me on 'wedding carraige.' You realize that we're operating on a low budget on this one. It's not like we have a lot of extra cash, Ahn."

"Yes, well it's your fault that we're even *having* a second wedding. The first one should have been plenty. I'm not going to make the best day of my life into a bargain buy because my groom was being stupid."

"Confused. I was confused. I apologized. We agreed not to talk about that. It didn't happen."

"Right. So there's no reason to scrimp on our first wedding. Now pick."

Xander looked down at the page, a whipped and broken man.

"Silver."

@ @ @

"It has stopped. It breaks my heart to think about how I treated you. It makes me cringe, okay? It makes me hate myself. Does that give you a happy?"

Spike groaned. Why was everything so black and white for her? 

"No. I don't hate you, Slayer. I just don't love you anymore."

"Well, I love you!" Buffy was near tears. "I love you," she whispered again. They'd said all this before. She just had to hear it. Again and again. Hoping there was hope in it. Hoping some night he would say something different, when she told him she loved him.

Spike shook his head. When he spoke again it was softer, as if he'd used up his supply of anger for the moment. "If you'd said that, oh, three years ago, we would have been fine. Hell, if you'd said it _one_ year ago I would've taken it. Things would'a been different. But you're too late. You're too damn indecisive, and you're too self~absorbed." 

Ode to Joy pierced the night. Spike sighed and half~turned, so Buffy wouldn't see his pink phone. Still had an image, after all. "Hullo?" 

He listened for a moment, and then glanced at Buffy. 

"No, she's here. She's fine."

He paused again. He turned around completely. His eyes were narrowed in suspicion or confusion, one. Buffy tried to read his expression, but it was impossible. 

"You say she what? Is that possible?" He snorted. "Wait, stupid question, forget I said it. Is she dangerous?" Another pause, and his eyebrows shot up. "I suppose that answers that, then. Right. We'll be right over. Unless you'd like us to finish the patrol... Alright then, we'll see you." He pressed the end button and slipped the phone back in the pocket of his duster, where it collided with the stakes also living there.

He set off towards the entrance to the cemetary, gesturing over his shoulder at Buffy. "C'mon. Bartender Frank has a problem."

Buffy jogged to catch up. "Who?"

"Watcher. There's some bird materialized in the middle of the bar, shot a hole through the wall, and passed out."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"But, a bird? What kind?"

Spike stopped short. "Wha-- oh. Right. Bloody Americans," he muttered. "Bird. Some chick. Dame. Broad. Woman. You know. Female of the species." He glanced back at her. "Whatever species that may be."

"So what's the problem?"

"The problem is at some point this explosive person's gonna wake up, and he'd like a bit of back up when it happens. Now come on."

Story still alive?  
Let me know whether or not to kill it/ put it out of it's misery, whatever.

~Star Mouse 


	3. Lots of talking, blah blah blah

**Chapter Three: Lots of talking, blah blah blah.  
**  
The only characters I own are the ones you haven't heard of. When I say that, I'm just assuming you are familiar with the telly show upon which this fiction o' mine is based. Ya know. Since you're reading fanfiction about it, and all. If not, just...watch it, or something. It kicks ass.

~Star Mouse

@ @ @ 

Giles looked around in alarm. The small figure sprawled face-down across the counter was attracting a bit of attention. He cleared his throat and called out in his best bartender voice.

"Nothing to see here. Move along. Move along, now." 

It really didn't sound like anything he'd seen on tv. He would have to practice in front of a mirror or something. He looked back down at the young woman in front of him. She was in jeans and a red hooded jacket that had pulled down her arms when she fell and left most of her shoulders bare. There were symbols painted in berry juice along her upper chest, such as he knew were used in transportation spells.

He should probably get her off the counter, but he really didn't want to disturb her before Buffy and Spike arrived. He risked checking the pulse at her neck. She stirred, and he drew back quickly. Alive, then. 

All manner of demons were crowding around to watch the floor show. The combined oder of ten different, interdimensional species was enough to make the Brit gag. But he curbed the impulse, trying not to offend his clientel, who were being oh so helpful.

"That kid spilled my drink!"

"What do you think the Ripper's gonna do about that damage?"

"Remember the Flangdre that broke the table?"

"Yeah. That gave me nightmares."

"Looks edible."

Giles blinked. "I beg your pardon!" A green, anphibious monster with a head like a bullet was gazing thoughtfully at the girl on the counter. Giles tried to take an offensive stance, bringing himself a few inches closer to eye level with the beast. "There will be no human consumption in my establishment," he said firmly.

The beast backed off. It's no good to brass off the bar tender. Giles made a little shooing motion at the curious onlookers, most of which were fully capable of cleaving his head from his body with assorted appendages. "Now run along, the lot of you. If-if you cause more trouble here than there already is, I will ... I'll see to it that you can't get a decent drink within a fifty-mile radius of the hellmouth."

@ @ @

Buffy sat next to Spike on the way to Rupert's. Well, there wasn't much of an option, other than having her ride in the trunk, and he wasn't quite that pissed at her. Yet. But she could tell he'd be reaching that point pretty soon if she kept at the 'love me again' thing. 

She glanced over at him again. She'd been doing it for the whole ride, as if he didn't notice. Once, it would have thrilled him. Now it merely annoyed. 

"Have I got something in my teeth, then, pet?"

"Huh?" Buffy nervously tucked a stray hair behind her ear. She was going to deny it. Even after proclaiming her love, semi~publically, reminding him every few minutes of the fact, she would still deny sneaking looks at him as he drove. He shook his head.

"Don't bother, Slayer. Just... Don't."

"Don't what?" she asked. She twiddled with her hair some more, looking pointedly straight ahead. 

"Never you mind. You know what. I refuse to talk about 'us' now." With the word us, he took both hands off the wheel to do mocking air quotes. 

The sides of Buffy's jaw sharpened, as she clenched her teeth. She faced forward. 

"Yehyeh. Get huffy, bitch," he muttered, turning into the gravel lot in front of Rupert's. The crunching rock against rock against tire rubber noise momentarily drowned out the crickets, making the chirping seem louder when it returned. The yellow lights illuminating the lots in fuzzy circles were orbited by moths like astroids around a sun. Spike hopped out of the car, slamming the door and heading for the bar, not waiting to see if Buffy was following.

Of course, she did. She would follow him to the ends of the earth, if it would make him remember how to love her.

She hadn't ever been this determined to win someone. She had often gone to great lengths for the people she loved, but never when she knew-- knew beyond doubt that they didn't love her in return. But that was how Spike had loved her, and she would do the same for him. At some point they had to meet, right? And more than anything, she needed to make that happen. She wouldn't mess this up again.

@ @ @

Spike stalked into Rupert's, the Slayer close behind. They both paused momentarily, just inside the door, and surveyed the room. As their twin predatory gazes swept the assembled demons and undead, nearly half of said patrons jolted up from their seats and headed for the other door. Most of them left money behind, with fear directed equally between the Vampire, the Slayer, and the Bar Tender, once and ever more known as Ripper.

Giles blinked as a great part of his clientele suddenly left. Then his Slayer appeared next to him, and he sighed. 

"My business sense rebels, but I'm glad you're here." 

"What's going on with the woman? Has she blown anything else up?" Buffy asked. 

Giles gestured to the young woman on the counter, several stools away. Spike stalked over to them, obviously posturing for the demons still remaining in the bar. 

"S gotta pulse," he offered. "Strong one. Tried waking her up?"

Giles looked around frantically for something to clean. Ah. Shot glass. He relaxed into the rhythmic motion. 

"I, ah, thought it would perhaps be better to wait until you two got here, rather than facing something with that ability alone."

Spike started to reply, but his vampire hearing clicked in. His head shot round to the body. Which was stirring.

The young woman let out a small groan and attempted to sit up. 

She slipped off the counter.

"Oww..." She blinked, and looked around her. "Where the hell am I now?" she muttered. She looked back up at Buffy, who caught her breath and took a step back. She heard Spike and Giles gasp behind her.

The girl's face had started out beautiful. Square face, defined cheek bones, though not as cut as Spike's. Pale, porcelin complexion and blue/green eyes. Pain-filled eyes. Surrounded by scars. And not just sliced, line scars. There were pock-marks, like someone had let a cigarette burn against her cheek. And what looked like a black brand just below her ear, where neck joined jaw. Several of the raised, pink lines ran through into the hairline, and one reached down from the edge of her left eye down her jawline and around her neck to the right. 

The worst part was that many of them looked anything but random. Several lines of scar tissue ran parallel, slicing through her brow in neat file. There was a diamond drawn around one eye. And a crude star etched into her forehead, near her right temple. 

She saw Buffy's stare, and turned away. "Uh. Hi. Can you please tell me where I am?"

Spike and Buffy looked at each other. He raised an eyebrow at the young woman.

"Sunnydale, California. Hellmouth," he added. Figure she knew about that anyway, what with the magical appearing and whatnot.

The girl's head shot back around, embarassment at personal appearences forgotten. "California? What the hell... I was trying to get to Bangledesh!" She got to her feet angrily, adjusting her clothing, looking around for luggage that didn't exist. "Of all the..." she muttered. "I was after the Slayer, not a couple Valley Yokels..."

Giles perked up at the Slayer reference. "Slayer? She's in Bangledesh? How long has that been the case?" 

The young woman looked at him, a bit puzzled. "For as long as she's been called. Nearly two years, I guess. I mean, unless she's moved. I did ask them to send me to the Slayer, so if she's moved down here..." She looked back and forth between their faces. "I really need to talk to her. Do you guys know where she is?"

Buffy's eyebrow arched. "Not sure," she said. "Not really on speaking terms with her, myself. But I've got some ties to the demon underground, and they seem to think the Slayer's been here for a while, now." 

"I know her," Spike spoke up. "And I might be able to contact her. What exactly do you need 'er for?"

"...I'm not sure I should tell you. I mean, it's really none of your business, and I have no way of knowing I can trust you." She looked around her, as if suddenly processing her surroundings. "Where the _hell_ did I pop out?!"

Giles looked around. "Rupert's. Demon bar. And we really have no reason to help you, either. The mere fact that you seek the Slayer bodes badly for your intentions."

The young woman nodded slowly. "So you guys are her friends," she reasoned. "Weird."

"Oh? Why is it that weird that a Slayer would have friends?" Buffy tried not to make her annoyance too obvious. 

"Oh, it's just that I heard she was sort of a loner. But you guys don't need to worry. This thing involves the Slayer, only. And I'm not going to hurt her, or anything. I just need to talk to her." She pulled a few sheets of paper out from her red jacket. "I'm sort of like a messenger. I promise it's in everybody's best interests that I speak with her."

"Everybody's best interests, as in, 'here comes the apocolypse'?" asked Buffy. 

The young woman blinked. "Okaay..." She bit the inside corner of her lower lip, in thought. Her scar tissue stretched oddly. "I'm getting the impression that this wouldn't be your first 'end of the world' senario." Once again, her suspicious gaze flickered to each of their faces. "Either that, or you're all crazy."

Spike did the slow, scary smile thing. "What makes that an either/or, pet?"

The young woman gave him a look that told him she didn't buy into that for a second. "Uh, right... But I really need to speak with the Slayer, kay? It's kind of a matter of life or death. *Her* life or death."

@ @ @

Ooh. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty worried! Gee, I wonder what will happen next. Anything? Reviews make for conclusions. I think I'm an addict, or something. Withdrawal is an ugly thing that you don't want to read.

~Star Mouse 


	4. Answers, Questions, Moping, Death Whee!

**Chapter Four: Answers, Questions, Moping, Death. Whee!  
**  
Characters. Not mine. Except the ones you haven't heard of. Those I own heart and soul. All else is Joss Co.'s So don't have a cow.

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

  
"You see, my ...employers, I guess... have this library of prophecies. It's kind of an obsession, or something." She took a sip of tea, and set it back on the coaster on Giles's coffee table before continuing in her slightly nasal Boston accent. Buffy sat across from her, Giles rested in the olive-green wing chair next to it, and Spike leaned against the wall next to the open door, smoking. "I know most Watchers and Slayers are into the whole prophecy thing, what with the whole, 'usually involving them' deal. But these are first and only editions. First and only copies, so I can safely say that you've never seen any of these before."

Giles held up a hand, asking her to pause. "These employers... Are they the ones who have scarred your face so badly? I'd like to know that before anything else is decided."

"Yeah," Spike called. "Like whether or not we should kill them."

"It's not just my face," she returned, quietly. "But no. They didn't do this." She coughed. "But the prophecy-- they have several volumes on the Slayer. Mostly it's the weird stuff that makes you remember most of these prohets were neurotic drug addicts. Like the Slayer 'loving those of the grave twice,' or 'killing and angel and fleeing to the city of angels and into hell,' and stuff like that. You know, weird stuff. But, anyway, we were reorganising, and," she shifted, bringing her hands into the conversation, gesturing as she talked. "You know that thing where you have too many books, and you start pushing them back on the shelves and putting new layers of books in front?" Giles, former librarian, nodded. He hated when people did that. 

"Well, we had been doing that, and this one volume --well, lots of volumes, but notably, this one-- had gotten hidden behind some others..." She pulled a slim, decomposing book out of her jacket pocket. Cloth bound, fraying, and with a flourescent pink post-it note sticking out, somewhere near the middle. Giles perked up.

"I say," he tried to conceal his excitement. "Ah, may I?" He held out a hand. The young woman handed the book over to him. 

"Careful," she said. "It's, like, really old, and it's not mine."

"Ah, don't worry," Buffy waved a hand. "He's a librarian. The worst thing he could do to an old book is drool on it."

Giles reverently cracked the cover open, and read the first page. It was in an early Germanic script. The title translated to...

"My word."

Spike stamped out his cigarette and stalked over. He leaned across to read. He blinked. He looked at Buffy. 

"What's the post-it to, Watcher?" he asked, still staring at Buffy.

"Why are you looking at me like that? What's it say?" Buffy's eyes darted back and forth between Spike and the young woman sipping her tea. 

"Oh, my God." 

Spike's head snapped round to the book, and he swiped it out of Giles' grasp, reading from the open page. 

"Oh, bugger."

"Okay, inside joke, cryptic mutterings thing _not_ funny anymore. What does the freakin' book say?"

Spike's voice was low and monotonic. "And the Slayer shall fall, and the next shall be called, and none shall save her from her fate. For she who defied the ones who keep her cannot be saved, yea, replaced as new.'" Spike looked up, noting Buffy's expression, more startled he could read than anything else. "This book's a chronical of the death of every Slayer, pet."

Distraction, distraction. "Small book."

"s Volume Twenty-Nine."

"There are nearly two hundred, before the author died."

Giles stared at the young woman. "You would keep something like this from the Watcher's council? The ones who would need it most?"

"The Watcher's council can blow up, as far as I care. They'd just misuse the knowledge. You work for them, right? You must realize that."

"No, I don't work for them any longer. That, I'm sure, is the 'defied the one's who hold her' reference. Unless...." He looked at Buffy. "Faith. She was more 'defiant' than you ever were..."

"No." Spike tapped the book, flipped several pages towards the back. "Here's reference to she who 'fought the light with darkness, and yea, was nearly felled by light. Indeed, was locked in four~square walls with those who kill and plunder.'"

"I put her in a coma, senior year. She's in prison now."

"That'd be it, then."

"But... Are you sure it's really me? I mean, *this* person," she gestured at the young woman on the couch, "thought I was in Bangledesh. Was there a new Slayer called there? Two years would be about right, right? You know. My morbid summer?"   
Giles and Spike shared a look. Giles attacked his glasses with the swede. "I-it's possible, Buffy. We, we'll just have to see."  
The young woman blinked. "This is starting to make sense. You," she pointed at Buffy, "You're the Slayer, aren't you?"  
Buffy rolled her head around to give the girl a 'duh, not needed right now' look. "Yeah," she said. "I'm the Slayer."  
"But... Wow. I thought. There's just one, right? There's supposed to be _one_."  
"Apparently there are three, all told," said Giles. "Though we will have to confirm the existence of the third before we can draw any conclusions. Now it is starting to come together."  
"But how did this happen? The Slayer's not supposed to get called until the old one--"  
"--dies. Yes. Buffy has died twice. Once in 1997, and again in 2001. Both times, she was subsequently revived. This caused the Slayer line to... Branch somewhat." Buffy bit her lip. She glanced up nervously at Spike. The young woman nodded at Giles to go on, and he did, enthusiastically. He always loved an opportunity to give the "One girl in all the world..." speech.

The look didn't go unnoticed. Spike shut the book and stalked the two steps to the couch. He leaned down so that he could speak into her ear.

"All right, pet?"

"Just fine," she whispered back. "I love getting my deaths forcasted for me..."

"Something else."

He could always read her. Even when he didn't lo-

"Yeah. I...I've died three times."

@ @ @

"Yes, hello. This is R-- a call for Thomas Ingle. Long distance, and extremely urgent. .... Well I assure you he'd rather be speaking with me. .... You really don't have any way to know that. .... I'll bloody well not have him call me back! .... Look, miss, if you honestly..." 

Buffy turned her attention back to the young woman sitting across her. Her arms were folded against her chest and she was looking around her at the interior of the Magic Box. It hadn't been really voiced aloud, but Buffy figured Giles would rather save his apartment than the shop. You know, just in case the girl got the boom~happies again. Spike had left, so as not to be caught by the rising sun. Giles had gone to make with the Watcher Council phone-a-friend hotline, and Buffy had been told to engage in light~hearted girl-talk.

They had been sitting in silence ever since. 

"So-" Buffy started, for the fifth time.

The girl blinked politely. Buffy finally thought of a topic of conversation. And kicked herself for not thinking of it an hour ago. Funny how finding out you're gonna die can throw you off the details.

"What's your name, anyway?"

The girl looked startled. "We haven't done this already?"

"Un-uh."

"Oh, well then-" she half stood and shook Buffy's hand. "I'm Katherine," she said, but immediately backtracked. "Kind of. Technically. Officially. But I like Birdy' better. It's what I go by, anyway. I'm not sure why I even mentioned 'Katherine,' because I've been Birdy for years... Heh. So I guess you can call me that." She resettled on the couch. "I'm the, uh, sort of courier for some crabby old men in togas in east Asia."  
"Buffy. Killer of Corpses in southern California, stationed in a town situated on the mouth of hell."

"Charmed."

"Pleasure's mine."

There was another silent moment. Birdy cocked her head.

"So. Who's the guy?"

"The tweedy one or the leather one?"

"Tweedy one's Mr. Giles, right? Renagade Watcher. I mean Young   
Hot Guy."

Buffy thought about how the description was so dead wrong.

"That description is so dead wrong," she said.

Birdy raised an eyebrow. "I'm not blind."

"No. Me either. Trust me, totally with you on the hotness. But it's just funny, considering he's, oh, about one-hundred-twenty years old, and tends to stay below room temperature."

More silence. 

"Oh. So he's a vampire."

"Yeah."

"Ah." Buffy waited. The inevitable question--

Birdy narrowed her eyes in slight confusion. "Aren't you supposed to drive a piece of wood through his heart, or something?" 

*sigh* --

always came around now. At least this time she had a good excuse.

"Yeah, but you see, I'm in love with him," Buffy replied calmly.

She hadn't been able to use that one for years. 

The silence came back. Then it went away. 

"Oh." Birdy's eyebrows shot up for a moment. "Off~limits, then."

Buffy sighed. "Not exactly."

"Oh. I get it. That sucks." The young woman reached over the coffee table to pat Buffy's shoulder reassuringly. "But no fear. He'll probably get it eventually."

Buffy didn't really feel like explaining her convuluted relationship with Spike to this person. Time to change the subject. 

"Um, if you don't mind me asking, why all the facial scars? I mean, there's a lot of them, and some of them are kind of with the 'planned' thing. You're not into the whole self-abuse mentality, are you? 'Cause we get enough of the masochism around here already."

Birdy drew her hand back. "It's, ah, no," she whispered. "I didn't do it."

"Oh..." Buffy sat up. "God, I'm sorry. What happened? Did those toga guys do it? Seriously, Spike'll go kill em, if you want. He's really big with the being polite to women." Sometimes. 

"No. No, it's okay. The people who did this, they're already dead."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Buffy asked quietly. 

Birdy stared at her. 

"...no. Not really."

"Okay. How about we talk about that handy talent you have for blowing holes in bar walls?"

"Oh. That. That's just, well, I think it's a side effect of the being zapped. Like, extra energy to burn, and it has to go somewhere. Or something. I'm not a witch. Well, I can do the energy release stuff, and whatever, but usually I don't get that much of a--"

"Blast!" 

Both heads turned at the British outburst from the counter.

Giles bit at the end of the plastic antenna of the phone. He looked over at Buffy.

"Our friends at the Watcher's Council have not been very forthcoming with us, I'm afraid."

"Are we talking about for the last six years, or in this conversation just now?"

"At all. I have very few contacts left on the Watchers council, but I thought I had a few friends left. Thomas Ingle and I were in footie pajamas together, but he's all ... clammed up, I'm afraid. According to him, I've been red-flagged. Propaganda runs rampant. Apparently I'm being billed as 'out of control', 'highly-dangerous', and 'engaged in an ilicit relationship with my Slayer.'" 

Buffy nearly gagged, and Giles nodded agreement. "Even Thomas thought I was turning black. I think it's safe to say that we'll be getting no information from them any time soon." He set the phone roughly into the cradle. "Bugger all."

Buffy stood. "So that's it, then? No more with the queries? We just wait to see if I drop dead to find out what Slayer the prophecy meant?"

Giles scratched his brow ridge with his ring finger. "Buffy, I," he sighed and dropped his hands to his waist. "I don't know where else to look. I'm sorry."

"Look in the book," Birdy said, looking at her lap.

Buffy turned to regard her. She turned her scarred face upwards.

"Find your death in the book. That will settle this."

Buffy turned to look back at Giles, eyebrow arched. He shrugged.

"The thought did cross my mind--"

"Then get with the looking."

"I fear these phorphecies are just too...vague. But even if I could decifer yours for certain-- Are you sure you would like to know the date of your death? That is, if you don't already?" Giles' gaze pierced her own, leaving her silent.

@ @ @

As is usually the case with people who drop in on the Sunnydale gang, Birdy didn't have anywhere to stay. So, along with the rest of the town, she was going to be holing up at the Summers residence. It was gone dawn when the two women left Giles at the Magic Box, still stressing and researching.

Willow had finally moved out of Joyce's bedroom, so Buffy pointed Birdy in that direction before stumbling off towards her own room. She had been trying to get up with Dawn for school each morning, and if she wanted to be coherent, she'd have to catch a few...minutes. 

She paused, just inside her room, and stared blankly at the wall for a while. She was at that weary stage where it's impossible to function and even harder to imagine falling asleep. She shuffled over to the sun~lit bed and sat on the edge. 

She couldn't sleep. 

There was no way. Not now. Not waiting to die. 

The sun rose higher and she watched the shadows move across the floor.

@ @ @

Poor Buffy. I swear, she broods more than S3 Angel.  
Reviews. Gotta love em. I think I'm an addict, or something.   
Withdrawal is an ugly thing that you don't want to read.

~Star Mouse 


	5. Wild wacky whirligig of fun, like always

**Chapter Five: Wild wacky whirligig of fun, like always.  
**  
I in no way own anything. Especially Buffy related. Not even this computer. I sneak into the high school comp~lab, wearing borrowed clothes, and write in secret. I live behind one of those subdivision entrance signs, in the lee, out of the wind. Occasionally kind people will toss me bags of popcorn, which I throw away in disgust, because I don't like it. 

That didn't make any sense. Never mind. Forget it. PooF!

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

Dawn jolted out of her dream, looking around frantically. The alarm buzzed on. She sighed. She had been having that dream again. The one she couldn't remember. She leaned over and turned off the alarm, which was in the shape of a little frog. Spike had gotten it for her, after he'd come back. Sort of a 'sorry for abandoning you, sorry for trying to rape your sister, sorry about not saying good-bye' gift. It had gone over surprisingly well.

She let out another melodramatic sigh. Spike. He said he didn't love Buffy anymore. She had to beat the information out of him, and she knew it really wasn't her business, in a detached, teenage sort of way, but she totally felt she had a right to know these things. It wasn't like Buffy ever spilled, like a good sister should. 

She sat up and stomped drowsily to the bathroom to scrub and primp.

@ @ @

When Dawn emerged from the bathroom, towel-clad, she noticed the open door to Joyce's room. That was odd... Okay, it was odder that there was someone sleeping in the bed. Dawn looked over at Buffy's room. Door was closed. She could let her sleep a little longer. It wasn't like she even really had any reason to get up so early anyway, except to see Dawn off. Dawn looked back at the figure in her mother's bed. Buffy probably knew about it. It wasn't like enemies suddenly decided to spend the night and invited themselves in. And she couldn't exactly beat anything up while dressed like a terricloth toga party waiting to happen.

Dawn went to her room and closed the door.

Fifteen minutes later she emerged, ready to attack the new day. She glanced back at the door to her mother's room, which was still occupied, and then padded down the stairs.

To her surprise, Buffy was already up, sitting at the kitchen counter, cradling a cup of coffee in front of her. She was slouching into it, breathing from the steam, like she needed the warmth. She looked totally broken. Dawn hesitated on the threshold. She hadn't seen her sister this lost and beaten for months. Surely this couldn't still be about that heaven thing. She swallowed and entered the kitchen at a cheery gait.

"Hey, Buffy!"

Buffy blinked, like waking from a dream. She looked up at her sister, but the lethargy was still there.

"Morning, Dawn. Did you sleep well?" Even her voice sounded tired and broken. Dawn's brows knit slightly.

"Yeah. Fine. How about you? Ya look kind of krumpy."

Buffy made an effort to straighten up and widened her eyes a bit, to show willing. "Yeah," she said. "I just had a long night. You know how it is. All the slaying can tucker you right out."

"Are you sure that's all? Cause we agreed not to do the secrets thing anymore. If there was something wrong, you'd tell me, right? I can help, now. You don't need to protect me from all of that."

Buffy nodded. "Oh, I know. I promise, it's nothing. Really. Just the ordinary, all-nighter-fighting-evil thing again. If there was something wrong, you'd be the first to know. Or second, I guess. But everything's fine," she repeated.

Dawn knew that was the best she was going to get out of her, so she let it drop. If there was something wrong, she'd find out about it when the sod hit the ceiling, anyway. She went over to the refrigerator and got out the milk. "That's good," she said. "You know there's someone sleeping in Mom's room?"

Buffy actually had to think about that for a second before she remembered. "Oh. Right. That's ...Birdy. She, ah, kind of appeared in the bar last night. She had some information for Giles. She'll be staying with us for a while, I guess. I'm not sure how long she's gonna stick around. "

Dawn hesitated on her way to the dishwasher. "Oh. So we're sure she's a good guy?"

"Uh, yeah. Not a baddie. Well, she didn't seem really eager to kill any of us last night, if that counts. Oh well. If she sprouts tentacles or starts growling, or something, we can always kill her."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind." They both turned at the voice. Birdy was standing in the doorway, sleep~rumpled. She seemed sort of amused. "Thanks for the bed, Buffy. I forgot to bring mine along."

"Oh, hey. No problem. Do you want some coffee, or something?" Buffy stood to refill her own mug. 

Birdy waved a hand and walked into the room. "Na. I get mondo hyper on that stuff. Not pretty. Do you have any apple juice?" She   
looked sideways at Dawn on her way to the refrigerator.

Dawn realized she was staring, and turned away. Her face-- "I don't think we have apple, but there's orange and grapefruit. Help yourself." She tried one of her perky smiles. Birdy nodded. 

"Thanks. I'm Birdy, and you're..."

"Dawn. Buffy's little sister." 

Birdy brightened. "Oh! I always wanted a sister. It would be nice to have a familiar enemy like that to grow up with."

Well, at least Buffy hadn't mentioned any of that Key stuff to her new best friend.

"So..." Dawn swung her arms, trying to make polite conversation.   
"You sleep well?"

For a moment, Birdy's expression darkened. Just a bit. "About as well as I usually do," she replied quietly. She unconciously touched her knuckles to the scar along her cheekbone.

Dawn mouthed 'okay...' and headed for the door. "Heading off for school now. Work at Magic Box later. Pick me up at, well, you'll probably be over there before I get off, anyway. Apocolypse comes, beep someone near me, cause I don't have a pager."

Buffy waved at the retreating back. "Bye, Dawn! Have a good day." She turned back to Birdy. She gestured theatrically at the door. "Behold Dawn: amazing disappearing girl. Now you see her, now you don't."

Birdy offered a small smile, which was really all the lame line was worth, and sipped her grapefruit juice. Buffy dropped her hands, and looked around the room. Her gaze rested on the counter. 

"Huh. Do you think she meant to leave this full cereal bowl on the counter?"

@ @ @

Spike blinked awake at the knock on his door. He closed his eyes again and sighed. Didn't those people realize this was three am for him? If this was Buffy, come to beg his love again...

"Spike? Are you awake?" Not Buffy. He sat up and wiped his eyes.

"Rupes? That you?"

Giles descended the ladder. "Indeed. I hope I'm not disturbing you."

Spike thought about a witty retort, but he was too tired to make the effort. He just waved his hand vaguely. "What are you after, Rupert?"

Giles started to speak, but hesitated as Spike shifted, his sheet coming perilously close to revealing parts of Spike that the Watcher really didn't fancy contemplating. He cleared his throat. 

"Spike, if we are going to continue, might I suggest that you clothe yourself? I truly have *no* desire to see another inch of your carcus."

Spike looked down, then waggled his eyebrows jokingly at Giles. Then he relented and dug around for his pants. Once at least semi clothed, he gestured again for the Watcher to continue. Clearing his throat, he did.

"Now Spike. As you are probably aware, I don't like you." Spike snorted. Giles gave him a reproving glance. "However," he continued, "you are a strong ally, and I would regret losing this uncertain alliance we have reached, should anything ...untoward happen."

Spike nodded. "You're worried I'll go Scourge if Buffy dies."

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"Don't be." Spike stood, looking for a shirt. He grabbed a -mostly- clean one off the floor and pulled it on. He looked back at Giles, serious as the grave. 

"What I had for Buffy is gone, Watcher. I don't deny that I loved her, but I don't anymore. Not now. Nothing can survive in a wasteland, except what's already dead. My love for Buffy died untouched. If anything could turn me into a raging Scourge, that was it." He spread his hands, indicating the crypt, the refrigerator with it's hog's blood cache, the television, the "Chicken Soup" book Dawn had left on her last visit.   
He smirked self~depreciatingly.

"And yet..."

Giles, who had always disliked Spike immensely, was suddenly compelled to dissuade him from his line of thinking. To make him rethink his emotions. If only for his Slayer.

"But Buffy loves you. You know that."

Spike let out a long, resigned sigh. "Yea. That she does. Can't help it. She's too late. But don't worry too much about your Slayer, Rupes. She'll get over it. She always does."

@ @ @

Buffy left Birdy at the Magic Box, and gave a smiling Anya strict instructions not to lose her. Anya had nodded, still smiling blankly, and gone over to tend to real, money-bearing customers. 

Then, Buffy had gone for a walk.

She rarely visited the park, during the daylight, at least. The last time had been when Willow had gone Darth Vader on them. It really was beautiful there. What with all the flowers, and ponds, and, and grass, and stuff. Buffy figured that if she wanted to enjoy it, it was esentially now or never. And, armed with this fatalistic mood, she was strolling.

She really didn't want to die. She had just *stopped* wanting to die. And now she would. How was that for a celestial joke? Except not a very funny one.

Her life had fairly sucked. See? Past tense. But it had. Her life *had* sucked. She had seen more death than anyone should. She had *caused* more death than anyone should cause. She had endured more pain... Every relationship she had had since the onset of Slayerhood had been angst-ridden. Had hurt her. Had ended painfully. She had done...bad things. Good things, too, but she had done bad things.

Bad things. Like a mugging. In broad daylight. Behind the bush to her right. Buffy sighed. She could hear the mugger's rumbling voice, muffled, probably by a ski cap. And shallow, panicked breathing. Duty calls.

Buffy crept up on the scene, careful not to spook the mugger. When she rounded the bush behind him, she was glad she hadn't gone with her first instinct, and charged. The guy had a gun, held to the throat of a middle-aged woman in a pantsuit. Probably on her lunch break from the office complex across the street. Buffy debated. How could she get the gun away..? She slid her foot forward along the wet grass.

A leaf cracked sharply.  
The man whirled.  
The gun pointed at Buffy's head.  
She stared down the short barrel, like it was a tunnel to hell.  
She froze. She just stared at that gun, unable to move.  
Several rapid heartbeats.  
A few gasping breaths.  
A fleeting eternity passed.  
The woman, seeing an opportunity, jerked in the man's grasp.   
On reflex, the trigger finger clenched.  
There was an echoing click over a blue-toned close~up to make film editors drool all over themselves.  
And then a small gasp from the Slayer who had just recently found a reason to live.

  
@ @ @

Birdy jerked. She was seated at the research table in the Magic Box. Anya had put her there with instructions not to bother the people buying things. She had been flipping through the books. She had finally decided they were diaries, or something. All the pages were blank. But now the books were forgotten.

The same thing -like a lightning bolt to the brain- yanked her out of her chair. Said chair clattered backwards. The few customers wandering around looked up, startled. Anya gave her a reproving look, and tried to redraw the people's attention to the merchendise.

It hit again. What was happening? She grabbed at her head, stumbled backwards into a bookcase. It really felt like something was clawing through her head. Her limbs. Clutching her heart. 

But not an animal. Like sparking mercury or molten gold.

"Ugnh!" She fell to her knees. The pulse was stronger, but it wasn't pain anymore. She dropped her hands to the floor, gasped, blinked, swallowed. 

"Oh, _wow._"

It was like caffeine to the vein. She could feel it. She was getting stronger. No. She _was_ stronger. Much stronger. Her whole molecular make-up was shifting.

Anya finally decided that the strange girl with the scarred face wasn't just causing a scene for the heck of it. And her demon~sense of things was ringing warning bells like claxons in her head. She rushed over to Birdy.

"What are you doing?" she asked. She grasped the young woman's upper arms, gave her a little shake. "Don't die in my store! You'll scare off all my business. Can you breathe?" Birdy turned glazed eyes to her face.

"I--" she started. Swallowed. Blinked. "I think I..." She cocked her head, like she was listening to someone. She closed her eyes for a moment, while Anya and the curious customers watched. Anya knit her brows. Her demon~sense was knocking down buildings. Something majorly mojo~y had just happened. This girl, Birdy-- She didn't feel the same. Like she had been able to smell Spike's soul, she knew that something was different. She didn't feel totally...human. She felt like--. Buffy. That's what it was. She felt like Buffy. Oh...

Birdy's head rolled around again. She was either very tired or very intoxicated. Like drunk with power, or something. She let out a short laugh, at something that wasn't very funny. She blinked several times, and then focused her teal eyes on Anya.

"I've been called. I'm a Slayer..." Her eyes widened. She was suddenly lucid. Fear sparked, and a touch of dread. "Which means that the last one just died."

@ @ @

Dundun*Dunnnnn*   
I told you I wasn't very happy with Buffy.

Review if you want this resolved. You know, if you want to.   
C'mon! You *read* this trash I wrote; that's the hard part!   
Reviewing it will take, like, ten seconds. You can just type a   
repeating 'g' or something. That'll be fine. 

And yeah, that's probably not how Slayers get called. But wasn't it dramatic?

~Star Mouse 


	6. Panic Party and Sunshine

**Chapter Six: Panic Party and Sunshine.**

Hi. Back. Stuff's not mine, except the characters you've never heard of. There'll be a few, I guess. If my characterizations are off, um, I don't know, flame or something. I don't *want* you to, but I guess I could live, if you did ...with therapy. Have fun, enjoy story, expect more.

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

Xander was very carefully putting the final touches on a large sandwich when a shrill, mechanical version of "Au Claire de Lune" at about twice the usual tempo rang out from his hip. He laid down the last slice of bread, and then backed away, hands out, as if he could stabilize his masterpiece from ten paces, and then answered his phone, which was plaid.

"Y'ello."

"Xander!" 

"Anya? What's wrong? You sound ...teary."

"Xander!"

"Anya! I'm here. Talk to me. It's okay."  
"Nonono! No, Xander, it is _not_ okay! I'm sitting here, in the Magic Box, with the *Slayer*!"

"Xander narrowed his eyes. "I don't get it. Are you and Buffy having a catfight? 'Cause if you are, I wanna watch."

"No, Xander! That's what I'm trying to tell you! This isn't Buffy! This weird girl Buffy brought in today just got called as a Slayer! In front of me! It was really creepy, and not very attractive at all," she added.

Xander's mouth went dry. A new Slayer had been called? That meant-- "Buffy?" he croaked.

Anya replied quietly, "I don't know. She's not answering her cell phone. I'm scared, Xander."

Xander nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "I know, Ahn. I'm coming over. Just wait for me, okay? I'm gonna call Giles. We can figure this out. It'll be okay, Ahn. Alright? It'll be okay."

@ @ @

Buffy blinked. She was still staring at the gun. Which hadn't fired. She'd heard the trigger... But it hadn't shot. For whatever reason. Thank God. She wasn't dead. She wasn't dead....

She moved like lightning, kicking the gun out of the man's hands. Then she proceeded with a brief and intense session of anger management, through purging. 

Feeling more alive than she had in months, she left the unconscious mugger on the grass, and walked off to enjoy the beautiful world called Earth.

@ @ @

Giles pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Birdy shifted nervously. Anya leaned against Xander. The annoying customers had been removed. And no one had been able to contact Buffy. No one was ready to contact Dawn. Willow was on her way. Giles had also put in a call to Spike, who had said he'd be by at sundown. Giles sighed.

"As near as I can tell, she has indeed been called as a Slayer. Which means, I can only assume, that the prophecy we read last night did in fact come to pass. The Slayer is dead." He sounded weary, and old. Xander looked around. He couldn't stand it. Giles, an old guy? He wasn't, really. He was strong, and he was vital, no matter how much the twenty-something Scoobies teased him. 

"Woahwoahwoah. Not 'The', okay? We're talking about the death of *A* slayer. There's more than one, G-man. You know that. I mean, for all we know, Faith kicked the bucket in a prison brawl."

Giles frantically rubbed his glasses. "No," he said quietly. "I called the Los Angeles Women's Penitentiary right after you called me. Faith is very well. She sends her animosity."

Birdy raised her hand. "There's still one Slayer unaccounted for."

"Two." All heads turned to the danger room door. Spike stood in the frame, holding a heavy, lightly~smoking blanket.

"Hey! Evil Dead! Come for the panic party?" Xander tried to let out his tension the way he did best: Cracking jokes and annoying people. "I heard you would be around with the nighttime. What's with the being day and you here?"

"Couldn't get back to sleep. Nothing better to do," Spike replied.

"Yeah, man, sorry about the wake-up call. We tend to get a little upset about Slayer deaths, and all."

Giles shot him a glance, then turned to follow Spike's track across the room to the counter. "I'm sorry...Two, you said?"

"'S right. You've got Faith pinned. This girlie's two, Buffy makes three, and you've still got two a the little minxes wandering around somewhere. One of the existing Slayers is dead now. You just have to wonder which of the four passed on the torch to flash-and-boom here." He gestured vaguely at Birdy, who, he noticed, was wearing Buffy's clothes. She reeked of Slayer, but he could tell from here it wasn't just the borrowed duds, either. She really had been called. He felt a slight twinge in his gut at the thought of Buffy lying dead again. But he was pretty sure it was just the mourning of a passing hero, and semi~friendly acquaintance. He'd feel the same for Red.

Giles rubbed his forehead again. "I'm sorry. I don't quite follow your logic. To our knowledge, there are two Slayers. Recent events have suggested the possible existence of a third, I'll admit, but where are you coming up with the fourth?"

"Buffy told me she died three times. That makes for three extras. Three plus one. I'm sure *you* can do that math."

Anya narrowed her eyes. "When did Buffy die the third time? Why don't I remember that?"

"Why indeed," Giles murmured. "Are you absolutely sure about that, Spike?"

"'Course not. Apparently I was in Africa at the time. Didn't she get shot, or something?"

Xander snapped his fingers. Anya's eyes widened in amazement, and as he talked, she tried to imitate the gesture. "That's right! Warren shot her. She went to the hospital, she-- her heart stopped." He looked back and forth between the Brits, as behind him Birdy scooted over to Anya and demonstrated the art of finger~snapping [which, put like that, sounds really violent].

"Does that count?" Xander said. Giles nodded wearily. How many times would his Slayer die before one of them learned their lesson? It was getting ridiculous. If the Council found out about this--- then again, they must have sent a Watcher to all the new Slayers, so surely they realized what was going on. Perfect. 

Spike nodded also, with authority. "It counts. Definitely."

The annoying bell on top of the door chimed.

All heads snapped round at the God~awful noise. Xander slumped.

"Oh, Willow. Hi." The others shifted, untensed just a tad. Let out held breaths.

The redhead walked to the table. Her eyes narrowed with rekindled anxiety. "Gee, guys, calm down the wacky level. I'm glad to see you too, but there's no need to get overemotional about it."

"'S good ta seeya, Red," Spike piped up. Willow shot him a grateful look. Off went Giles' glasses. *Rubrubrub*

"Forgive us, Willow, on our lack of enthusiasm. We were expecting...ah, hoping for Buffy. Have you been able to contact her?"

Willow's brow creased, and her chin did that crinkle thing. "No. I've tried, like, five times, and I never get an answer. It just keeps ringing until that message thingy comes on. You know, the one where she swears at all telemarketers and gives that really long, confusing explanation for where she probably is?"

Anya snapped her fingers, with a look of triumph. Birdy gave her a silent round of applause. "Well, let's try her again," the ex~ex~demon said. "It's not like there's anything better we could be doing, like reopening the store and making money, because I know how well that suggestion would go over with you people."

Giles nodded, pointedly ignoring the last part of Anya's suggestion. It was just like Xander's little jibes. There wasn't any real animosity behind it right now; they were all too worried. "Yes. It's been ...a few minutes. I'll try her again." Forgoing the leopard print cell in his pocket, he dialed on the Magic Box phone. He shifted from foot to foot and rapped his knuckles on the counter as the phone on the other end rang.

Spike's ears pricked up. He turned his head this way and that, and then got up and walked over to the danger room. He emerged, holding a ringing blue cell phone by the antenna. Giles blinked at it, looked at the headset in his hand, and set it back in the cradle with a bit of violence.

"I don't know whether to be furious or relieved."

Spike set the phone down on the table. "Well, 't least that explains that little problem."

"Indeed," said Giles. 

"Yeah," Xander said, "that's all right, then. Now she has no way to contact us, no way for us to contact her... For all we know, she's been dead for hours."

"Xander." Willow picked up Buffy's cell phone and fiddled with the flip~snappy cover.

Birdy sat awkwardly, not sure how to act, whether she should be hopeful or start mourning.

@ @ @

Buffy was in one of her better moods when she finished her walk. She was happy to be not~dead. She felt like singing, or something. Something really loud, or fast, or both. Something she could work out to. 

A quick search of her CD collection in the living room, plus a little snooping in Dawn's room, turned up an empty Pink jewel case. Rats. Now where.... Oh yeah. The Magic Box. Danger room. Left of the stereo, upside down. She could see it in her mind now. 

She flicked her wrist to check her watch. About half an hour before Dawn got off school. She could go over, have a nice, "18 Wheeler" accompanied workout, and then have a little friend~time and research party while Dawn was paying off her debt to society and Anya.  
She suited up and got set to jog over.

@ @ @

"Should we call Dawn?"

"No. Definitely not." Giles rubbed his eyes again. "We really don't know anything, and we would only worry her. There's no need for that, yet."

"Yeah," said Xander. "'Cause God knows we're doing enough worrying right now for everybody. No need to share."

Willow looked at the clock. "Yeah, but school gets out now. Dawn will be here any minute."

The door chimed.

Xander turned. "Speak of the de--Buffy!"

Buffy blinked as Xander vaulted the table and pulled her into his arms. Taken by surprise, and not really viewing her friend as a threat, she let him crush her face against his chest.

"Uh, hi, Xan," she said, her voice muffled by the material of his shirt. "I assume I missed something? Do I get one of those "while you were out" memos?" Xander finally let go, only to be replaced by Willow. Buffy gasped for breath, looking over at the assembled, relieved~looking Scoobies for help.

"God, Buffy; we thought you died again!"

"Will? The prophesy." That made sense. "Giles told you about the Buffy death thing?" *annoyed look at Watcher*

Anya snapped her fingers proudly. "No. We figured it out for ourselves. You know, when the next one got called."

Willow loosened her hold on Buffy and narrowed her eyes. "What prophecy? Since when are we out of the prophecy loop?"

"Sorry. It was sort of a late-last-night-slash-early-this-morning thing. Not a in-the-closet-for-months thing."

Willow squeezed her friend again and released her. Anya, who had grasped the pattern, hurried to fill the gap. She gave Buffy a happy little squeeze.

"I'm glad you're not dead, because you're my friend."

Buffy returned the hug, not really having any other option. "Uh, me too, Ahn." 

Anya released her and went over to the cash register. She turned it on with a triumphant twist of the key, then bounced over to the door to remove the "Reserved by Mystical Study Group, Do Not Disturb, But Come Back Soon, And In The Meantime, Shop Online @ WWW.MAGICBOXINC.COM." sign from the window.

Buffy turned back to Giles, Spike and Birdy, not sure what to do. When her gaze rested on Spike, he rolled his eyes. 

"I'll pass on the groping, if it's all the same." He headed for the Danger Room door. "Now, if the crisis has passed, I'll just be on my merry way."

Giles called after him, "Spike, this concerns you as well, you know. If you want to be involved, you'll have to participate."

Spike stopped, half turned, with his hand on the door handle. His eyes flicked to Buffy, who was desperately trying not to look at him. Back to Giles. His hand fell to his side. 

"Fine," he said, his tone transforming to almost mocking cheer. "I'm up for some fun and funky reindeer games. I suppose I'll be beating Things up for information, while the rest of you are in Research Land?"

Buffy looked at Giles. "Oo, me too? I want some violence. Can I kill stuff, too?"

Giles sighed. "Yes, fine. But you'll probably have a hard time of it before night falls."

Buffy looked at the sunlit windows. "Oh." She turned back round, and shrugged. "Fine. I'll just beat up Mr. Bag." She flounced over to the Danger Room, a difficult feat in jogging pants and sports tank.

The door shut, but opened again about three seconds later. Buffy's head poked out.

"Did Anya say something about another Slayer getting called?"

@ @ @

Hey. Review. It'll take five seconds. Less, if you just write something like 'Sucked.' or 'Excellent'. Of course, such a brief response would cheapen the whole thing, leaving us both feeling dirty and used. ... Never mind. Forget that. Please review.

~Star Mouse 


	7. Xander Harris sums it up

**Chapter Seven: Xander Harris sums it up.**

Yay! Storyness. Goodie. I'm sure everyone of you reading this was just waiting with bated breath for me to update [she typed sarcastically]. I'm not even sure anyone's reading this at all. Except for the seven people who cared enough to review. Or were bored enough, don't know which. But one's a friend, so that doesn't really count (not that I don't appreciate it, DM. Just, you know, strangers better). Anyway, don't own people, slavery wrong, blah blah blah. I don't even think there's any rude language in this chapter, so it's sort of like G or something. Not even any of that thinly~veiled innuendo so common in B/S. [She typed smugly].

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

"So. A Slayer died today, as per prophesy, and of all the millions of young people of the female sort, all over the world, the one that gets called happens to also be the bringer of said prophesy, who happened to be in this very building." Xander said, leaning back. Sometimes the Scooby club explanations got so rambling and jumbled he felt the need to summarize. Sort of like verbal cliffnotes, for those of you not paying attention. It was, like, a public service, or something.

Nods all round. Okay, so maybe *he* was the only one who had trouble keeping up, then.

It was a while later. The sky was going dark, or at least a little pink around the edges. Dawn had arrived, and had been promptly sent out for donuts and pizza. Xander was just glad he had finally graduated from Donut Guy status.

"I hate to celebrate, but hey," he said, sitting back up, "Gotta be feeling good about the not~deadness of Buffy."

Said Slayer nodded. The other Slayer was pretending to read a book, while actually watching Spike from under her lashes.

"Yeah," Buffy replied. "I know what you mean. I mean, I'm glad I'm not dead, but at the same time I have this feeling, like I'm thumbing my nose and saying 'Better you than me.'" She made a little wrinkly~nose face. "It's ooky."

And that about summed it up. The group gathered around the table shared an awkward moment of silent mourning for the hero they had never met; a soldier lost in the line of duty. It was broken when Giles walked over.

"Well, it's confirmed. I finally got through to someone who knew something. They wouldn't tell me anything earlier, but since these ...unfortunate events... came to pass, they have semi~elevated me to the 'Need to Know' list. Damn idiots," he added, glowering at his former co~workers. 

He looked up, and coughed. "Um, sorry. A few hard feelings on that front, I'm afraid. Anyway."

He sat down at the table, in the empty chair next to the one Spike was ...occupying. Sitting was too strong a word, he felt. More like sprawled in. Edging away from the slouching vampire, he continued.

"I got back on the line with Thomas Ingle. He admitted the existence of the other two Slayers. And one, a Pujha Pari, in Bangladesh, was indeed called in as deceased by her Watcher earlier today." 

Giles paused for a moment, privately mourning the loss of a warrior, simultaneously rejoicing that she was not his to mourn. He shifted and cleared his throat. "Apparently, she defied the council, sort of similarly to the way you did, Buffy. That would explain the prophecy's wording."

Buffy nodded. "So I'm not lined up to die just yet. That's a good, I guess."

  
Willow nodded emphatically. "Yes! Very *definitely* of the good."

Spike rolled his head round on the seat back, to face Giles. "So is there actually anything to research, then?"

Giles shrugged. "It seems that most of our questions on that front have been answered. However, we still need to figure out what to do about you."

There was silence, and then Birdy jumped, when she realized that everyone was looking at her. "Heh. Talking about me. Okay. Um, what *do* you plan to do with me, exactly?"

Buffy didn't hesitate. "You're staying at my house. That way we can train you up, and you can pitch in around the hellmouth. It'll be fun."

Birdy's eyes darted back and forth. What was with these people? She was a total stranger, and they were totally taking her into their confidence. She was starting to see why the blonde Slayer had died three times.

Giles cleared his throat. "Um, Buffy..." He glanced at Birdy, who offered up a weak smile. "No offence, you understand, but we really have no basis on which to trust you." He turned back to Buffy. "I can't say I really recommend opening your home to her like this. Not until we know more."

Buffy shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous, Giles. She's a Slayer. Judged virtuous or whatever by the PTB, or something like that. She wouldn't try to do anything bad to us."

"*Coughcough*Faith*Cough*" 

Buffy turned to glare at Xander. He looked up innocently. "Oh, sorry."

"We're not discussing this. Birdy stays at my house. End of conversation." Buffy gave a sharp nod of her head. She pretended to miss the way Spike rolled his eyes, even though she felt a jab of nearly physical pain at the silent insult.

Willow looked at Birdy, then Buffy. "Um, okay. But she's kind of sitting right here, you know. With us. Have you even asked her if she wants to?"

Buffy's stance faltered. "Oh. Right. Sort of skipped that part." She turned her brightly smiling countenance on Birdy. "Wanna stay at my place indefinitely, while you figure out the Chosen One thing?"

Birdy had to smile. This was...nice. "Yeah. That sounds good. And, for what it's worth, Mr. Giles, I'm not going to kill anyone."

@ @ @

"I'm gonna *kill* you!!"

Dawn bounded down the stairs. When she got to the fifth from the bottom, she vaulted the rail, cutting the corner into the dining room. "Gotta catch me first, you sick fiend!" she called. She sidestepped around the table and skidded into the kitchen. Around the counter, at the door--

She stopped short. Due to the hand clenched around her shirt collar. Birdy leaned in close, scowling menacingly. She thrust a hand, palm up, in front of Dawn's face. 

"Give."

Dawn sighed, and relinquished the lip gloss. Birdy clenched her fist around it, and then let go of Dawn's collar and patted her head. 

"Good Dawn."

Dawn ducked out of the contact. "You're getting good at the Slayer thing, you know. The stealth... The speed... The mean-big-sister~yness."

Birdy smiled. Dawn smiled back. Birdy really was pretty. The Scoobies had gotten used to the scars, now, so that the horrible reminders of a past they didn't know kind of blended into the background.

"Well, what can I say?" asked Birdy, twirling the gloss. "It's been a month. I've got to be learning *something* by now."

"Oh, you totally are!" Dawn assured her, hearing the undertone of self~frustration. "You're, like, as good as Buffy now, with the fighting. Really."

"I had considerable training in the martial arts when I was younger. Your sister had to learn from scratch. I'm just building on what I already knew."

"Whatever. It's good for you guys to have each other to spar with. She doesn't really have anyone else around here to train with. We're all with the not~Slayer strength."

"Spike--"

"Egh," Dawn cut her off quickly. "Not a good idea. Don't get me wrong; I *love* Spike. Kiddie crush and best Big Brother figure ever. Only slightly in the "1984" sense, 'cause he stalked Buffy for a while- neeever mind." At Birdy's knit~brow confusion, she hurried on. "But things are kind of awkward between those two. They have a history, sort of, and... I dunno, I just get the feeling that if they tried to spar, the doors would open on one fresh corpse and a pile of dust."

@ @ @

If my pathetic plea wasn't enough for you to figure out that I really want reviews, well, I'm not sure I *want* YOUR reviews... [She typed, worriedly].

~Star Mouse 


	8. Sewers and shellfish and all else slimey

**Chapter Eight: Sewers and shellfish and all else slimey.**

In case anyone's concerned *coughcough*Dreamzone*cough* , no matter how bleak things may look now, this is, truly, deeply, utterly B/S all the way. But you've got to remember that Spike and Buffy have really hurt each other, and it will be difficult to build up trust and love that may never have even been there. I'm not going to rush their progress, just to end up with a really false situation on my hands. I promise they really will get together. And it'll be great, and it won't involve telepathic links or anything. _Well, actually...._ But never mind that now. The rest of the plot is okay too, I think, so maybe you could get into that, while you wait for the fireworks.

Muchos Gracias for the reviews. They warm my heart like ...um... A blowtorch? On low stream. Or maybe a crockpot. I dunno. But keep with the cheeries, and I'd like some criticism too. I know there are grammar/ typos and whatnot, but it's such a hassle to go and change it, I don't think I will. If it really bothers you, just squint and pretend I didn't spell 'idiocy' with an 'e'. And suggestions are good, too. Just as a warning, if you think you can mold my story to your own foolish whims; I have the plot worked out in detail already, and I probably won't be changing the main traffic. But if there's a conversation or argument you think would be funny, or something like that, by all means, suggest away. Later.

~Star Mouse.

Oh, DM: Dig your story. Lots of blood. I haven't gotten to the 'Duplicitous' part yet, though. Still looking.

@ @ @

Giles sighed. Things had been busy, and he felt that he fully deserved the brandy he had in his hand. He had taken on a very active part in the training of the new Slayer, this month, and it was exhausting. 

Training Buffy had been very hard work, too, in the beginning. Well, the first several years. At times her willful attitude had made him despair of her ever learning anything. And now he was doing it all over again.

Birdy's shy outer shell had quickly melted, to reveal a personality very much like Buffy's. Much for the quips and one~liners, that girl. But, like Buffy, also with the unswerving dedication. The stalwart heart beating steady, so very definitely to a different drummer that got his tempo from some intersteller transmitter. It was so familiar, some of the things they had gone through, already. When he had taken Buffy as his Slayer, she had already been fighting a year. Birdy was at much the same level Buffy had been. Just needing her skills honed. Just like he knew how to hone them. Like he was trained to hone them.

It made him feel like a real Watcher again. Officially. Not the strange role of godfather he had taken in this little clan. Though he felt he could easily include Birdy in that circle. 

He nodded along with the turntable for a moment, letting the rhythm of the record guide his thoughts. Let the song sooth him.

--And she seemed to see him as a father figure, as well. Whatever her past was --she wouldn't talk about it-- it hadn't been happy, and had obviously been lacking in concerned and caring family. Sometimes, when the Scoobies were all gathered around the research table, and she was a part of that intimate circle, he saw her sigh, like she really couldn't believe her luck. Couldn't believe how she could be included like this.

Such a dreadful shame to have to hand her over to someone else.

Birdy's new Watcher was already en route from England, probably looking down on the Atlantic at this very moment.

He took a sip of the brandy.

@ @ @

"Anya, there's no way."

"Alexander Harris..."

Xander waved his hands in what he hoped was a placating way. Anya looked about ready to go Vengeance on his hiney.

"Ahn; chill. Just. Think about it, okay? Carefully. Then explain the whole thing to me again, as you would to a child."

Anya's shoulders rose and fell as she took deep breaths. "Alright. Wedding. Happy time. Time for family and friends to gather around the radiant couple, and for the men in attendance to either feel pity or jealousy for the groom, and the women to just feel jealousy for the bride. I want to be envied properly on my happy day, to make up for the *pity* I received on my last, not-so-happy day." She took another breath, and launched back into the explanation.

"Logically, the better we look, the worse the guests will feel about themselves, and the more they will envy us. I *will* have this dress," she tossed a magazine, bristling with sticky notes, into his lap, rather forcefully, "and you *will* wear this tux." Another magazine hit its mark. "And we'll be happy, _damn it!"_

Xander bit his lip. "Ahn, believe me; I want you to be happy. Forever. I'm dedicating my *life* to making you happy. That's why we're getting married. But we can't possibly afford this. I agree. It's a beautiful dress, but Vera Wang charges an arm and a leg, and if you want this dress, you'll have to decide which you want more: Limbs or the dress to put them in."

Anya's lip trembled. "Do you really not pay *any* attention to what's going on around you?"

Xander was baffled. What was she talking about? Probably the reason he didn't know what she was talking about.

"Xander, I could buy this dress for all five of my bridesmaids, if I wanted. I don't," she added, "because that would defeat the purpose of looking better than them, so they envy me. But I could."

Xander searched for words. "How?" Good enough.

"Easy. Willow got me on the net. The entire stock of the Magic Box has been uploaded onto both Amazon.com and its own home page. I have links to other sites as well. If they don't have an item, the customer is sent to me. It's easier for me to get rarer items, with the teleporting, and the connections, so I've built up a strong customer base all across the Americas. Some scattered business in Europe and Asia, also, but most of--"

Xander waved a hand "Woah; hold up." He narrowed his eyes incredulously. "You're saying the Magic Box actually *sells* stuff?"

Anya gave him a look like he had started talking German.

"Duh. Do you honestly think I would invest my time and effort into something that wasn't rewarding?" She smiled. "Like you."

@ @ @ 

Buffy opened the door to the Danger Room. "18 Wheeler" issued forth. She smiled and nodded her head to the beat. There were thuds and 'whump's, also to the music. And the cr/lanking sound of a chain. Birdy was really giving the bag the what~for.

But not, and this was important, getting _too_ much fierce joy out of it. Not like Faith. 

When the new Slayer had shone up, years ago, Buffy had thought she had found a kindred spirit. Someone who could understand what she went through in a way that her friends could not, no matter how hard they tried. Someone she could relate to better than she had related to Kendra.

Yeah. That had lasted all of a month.

Faith had gone all wrong. She had been the person Buffy knew was inside her. She had become the person she could have been, if things had been different. Faith scared Buffy because she saw her as a mirror.

Birdy was a lot like her, yeah, but it was on a very superficial, I-like that-music-too kind of way. Like a friend. Birdy could be her friend.

She hadn't made a friend in _years_. The closest she'd gotten, ironically, was just after she went all Resurrection~y. Spike. They'd been friends.

Yeah. That had lasted all of a month.

. . . Birdy'd been here about a month. Better start looking for signs of buried evil.

She approached the whirling, flailing young woman, glancing occasionally up at where the bag was attached to the ceiling. The peg was gyrating wildly in the ring, but it the bolts were sticking fast.

She didn't bother trying to yell over Pink's vocals, just edged into Birdy's vision. The girl blinked, gave the bag a few more hits with the sides of her arms, and caught it as it swung back at her. She smiled warmly, and leaned to turn the stereo off.

When the music died, she turned back, still smiling. "Gotta love the song," she said, through heavy breaths. She was wet with sweat, and whispy hairs were curling up around her hairline and sticking to her forehead. She looked exerted, not exhausted. The white lines of her many scars stood out starkly against her flushed face, but it was really easy to see past the creepiness that could be if you knew the young woman smiling there. Buffy smiled back.

"Hey. Good workout?"

"Mm! Yeah. It ...feels good. To release some of all this extra energy I have now." She walked over to the stool and grabbed a towel.

"Yeah," Buffy replied. "I know what you mean."

Birdy wiped her face, looked up. "I'm still game. You wanna spar?"

Buffy gestured at her clothes, which included leather and denim. And heels. Birdy shrugged.

"I've got an extra pair of your workout clothes here. Speaking of which: I promise, I'm getting around to getting my own. My bosses are trying to figure out those newfangled telephones as we speak, so they can transfer my back pay to an account here."

Buffy waved it off. "No biggie. One body, too many clothes. You can just help yourself until you get around to buying some more your style."

It had already come out that Birdy was more of the "vintage grunge" mentality. Buffy's leather skirts and peasant tops were the right size, but they didn't really _fit_ her.

Birdy pantomimed beating the crap out of someone, in miniature. "And the other part?"

"Nah. I just came to see if you wanted to come with me and Dawn for lunch. Willow too. We're sort of celebrating Dawn's release from the Summers Hall of Juvenile Detention. You know, for that little incident a couple weeks ago?" 

Ah yes. The now imfamous 'fungus bomb' incident.

"Ooh. Yeah, I'd love to go, but it'll take me too long to get ungross. I don't want you to have to wait. You guys can just go ahead."

"I know. I took the stinky sweaty factor into account. You've got an hour to get ready, if you really do want to come. You know, if you weren't just blowing me off politely, which is okay too," Buffy replied.

Birdy smiled. "Totally. I really want to go." She looked around. "I guess I'll jog home." She narrowed her eyes at Buffy, still smiling. "You're really not mad at Dawn anymore?"

Buffy shrugged innocently. "Let's just say, lunch is Dawn's treat, and I will be ordering lobster."

@ @ @

The airport was crowded. After all, LA was a hub. The flight from England had just arrived at the gate, and the tunnel~ish hallway that led from the plane to the building was starting to spew passengers, all of whom looked a bit worse~the~wear from the redeye trip. And for many, the journey was far from over.

She stepped out into the central hallway, and looked around. Youngish. Possibly thirty, almost certainly less. Dressed like someone who wore something this conservative because it was expected of her, not because she wanted to. She sighed in exasperation and flicked her dark, egg~lensed sunglasses into her hairline, scanning the crowd and the guide signs. She looked down at her ticket, and then back up at the courtesy map on the wall. Her narrowed eyes traced the path to the baggage claim. She sighed.

"Bugger."

@ @ @

The sewers were built to be vampire friendly. And the vampires were friendly to them. Below the city, there existed a vast network of man~sized tunnels, guarded from sunlight. And they were getting a cleaning out.

Spike was gaining quite a reputation in the demon underground, literal and figurative. As a master vampire, he had been treated with caution for a while. But now, the word was out, in a big way. 

The Slayer of Slayers was batting for the other team. 

Vampires and demons scrambled for cover as Spike stalked through the subterranean streets, a baseball bat in one hand, sharpened like a pencil. His wrath was carried out swiftly and efficiently. And silently. His eyes glinted yellow in the filtered, dusty light from the caged emergency flourescents lined up along the ceiling.

He was out to kill.

Not out to kill anything in particular, really. Though he certainly wouldn't object to taking a few shots at a certain petite blonde. She'd been back at his crypt, yesterday. It was getting worse than Harmony, on the annoyance factor. He considered that for a second, staking a fleeing vamp through the back in the moment of contemplation. On second thought, no. Nothing was worse than Harmony.

But this weird Buffy-- this nice, nervous, polite Buffy that insisted she loved him-- was fast approaching the Harmony level. And it was putting him in a vicious mood.

@ @ @

Buffy sat back, setting her napkin on the table. "Wow, Dawnie. That was great. Thanks for treating."

Dawn scowled back. "Thanks for ordering clams."

"Oysters. Nice ones, this close to the Pacific," Birdy corrected absently. She put the finishing touches on a little table art she was working on, made of toothpicks and sugar packets and her extra forks. Dawn rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Seashells with squishiness inside. Not my idea of yum."

Willow smiled. "It was very nice of you to treat us, Dawn."

Dawn shrugged. "I kinda had to. Orders of the BuffyMom."

"But all the same, you did a good job of stifling your cries of torment when Buffy ordered her shellfish."

"What can I say? I'm a trooper."

Buffy grinned evilly, and picked up her menu. "Yeah. A trooper that will be buying us desert."

@ @ @

The following is a little taste of "Trombone Humour" picked up in Marching Band: 

"There are two elephants sitting in a bathtub. One turns to the other and says, "Could you please pass the soap?" The other one replies, "What do I look like, a typewriter?"

. . . 

And that's it. That's the joke. And everyone in band hears it and they just burst out laughing like it's the funniest thing they've ever heard. Me included.  
Fear the marching band. Fear them greatly.

Review if you didn't get the joke.

~Star Mouse 


	9. Watcher Wars IV: A New Hope

  


**Chapter Nine: Watcher Wars IV: A New Hope**

Whee! Let's hear it for exposition! Yay! And let's also hear it for insane band rehearsal schedules that leave time for nothing else but homework and sleep --in that order. Woo! Not. Anyway, enjoy, review, blah, blah.  
And I'm just assuming that if you're reading this chapter, you've already read the previous chapters, in which I reiterate several times, to and possibly past the point of irritating, that I don't own anybody. I mean, what kind of person finds a new story and goes, "Oh, this looks like an odd bit of fanfiction. I think I'll start at chapter nine. Oh, this must be a ME exec. in disguise, because they don't mention otherwise anywhere at the top of the page! Wow! Maybe they'll send me an autograph!" 

With that in mind, I will no longer go on and on about not holding copyrights. It's unnecessary, and it takes up space I could otherwise use to whine.

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

Giles sat alone in the Magic Shop. Anya had asked him to watch the store while Xander took her out to lunch. It was out of the question to close it, of course. He didn't appreciate the implication that he couldn't possibly have anything better to do, but he really *didn't* have anything better to do, that he couldn't do at the Magic Box. It didn't make sense to go to the bar, even if he had the slightest interest in being there more than absolutely necessary, since Rupert's' clientele tended to be nocturnal. At least he had a little light reading.

He had found the book, this morning. The one he had wrested from that drunken sod the night Birdy appeared. It was in Latin, luckily. Latin wasn't a problem. He only wished more of these mysterious and useful books of prophesies were in Latin. 

He settled down behind the register --as per Anya's instructions-- and scanned the pages. 

Blah blah blah, famine, blah blah, flood, blah blah, soul'd demon... Oh. Here it was. Funny how Angel had always been "the vampire with the soul," and Spike was always "the demon with the soul." The distinction explained why none of these relevant texts had turned up earlier, though. Let's see here... He read aloud, translating as he went: 

"And the demon shall fall to a . . . _what was that word... _a deathless life, and shall love the Slayer to the ends of the earth, where he will gain his ...soul ...for ...her.' Oh, for crying out loud." 

He flipped the book shut. The silly thing was past the expiration date.

The bell above the door chimed. He clicked the slim volume into his briefcase, and turned to face the customer.

Egg~framed sunglasses stared him down.

"'Ello, Rippeh."

@ @ @

And the Buffybot, pretty much forgotten, carried on blending and shaking through the noontime rush at the PikiMiku Juice Bar. Like Watcher, like Robot, as the not~so~old~and~slightly~altered saying goes.

@ @ @

Willow looked around the classroom, at all the talking kids. Under her desk, her feet tapped nervously, and she was twirling a pencil. With her mind. A little harmless, small~scale, friend~approved magic to calm her nerves. She cautiously raised her hand.

After a few seconds, the students went silent.

She tried not to grin, but it was just so *fun*. The power of being a teacher was like nicorette gum, for her. She had wanted power, had wanted to stand apart. That was what had started that whole embarrassing 'I'm gonna end the world' thing. Power. In her classroom, her little universe of 'Computer Applications 102', she had power. Unlimited, unchallenged power.

She smiled at her subj-_students_. "Okay, guys. Log in and go to the tutoral webpage."

She smiled into the sound of forty~four hands rattling keys.

@ @ @

Shouts, crashes, and British epithets carry out onto the street from inside the strange magic store on Lawrence Street. Then, the building starts shaking. 

Several pedestrians cross the street to avoid the tremors, and continue on their way. 

It _is_ Sunnydale, after all.

@ @ @

Buffy and Birdy had watched Willow drive off with Dawn in her green Passat a while ago. Willow had had an afternoon class to teach, and was taking Dawn with. The Slayers, unlike the other two women, didn't have anywhere they had to be. Not until sunset, anyway. And it seemed such a pity to get all gross and sweaty training again right after showering and changing. They sat at the table and worked their way through the beverage menu, both carefully avoiding the alcoholic options.

Buffy took the opportunity to fill Birdy in on some of the stuff that had been going on before her arrival. Starting ...basically, sophomore year, and working her way from there. She tried to avoid focusing on Spike any more than was strictly necessary for accuracy's sake, but even she could tell she'd put too much attention on him. And her synopsis really didn't make sense. She needed Xander here to summarize.  
Without someone to do the 'in a nutshell' bit, her explanations sucked.

When she finished, Birdy just sat there, nodding slowly, biting the end of her straw.

"I am so confused right now."

"Sorry. I tried."

"Let me repeat it back, to make sure I've got it."

"By all means. Repeat away." Buffy took a gulp of cherry coke.

Birdy looked alternately off into the distance and at Buffy as she spoke. "Okay. You get called. You get expelled--"

"--for setting the gym on fire--"

"--for setting the gym on fire, you move here, you meet Xander and Willow, find out Giles is your new watcher, fall in love with a vampire--"

"Angel."

"Right. The one from all those prophesies. You die, you come back, you kill the Master, you have sex with Angel, he gets bad, tries to destroy the world, along with Spike and some vampy chick Drusilla. You kill him, but he also comes back again. But then you guys decide it's not going to work out with you two and he goes away. Somewhere in here you blow up the school."

"Right. Boom."

"After that there's college, and some psycho Mr. Potato head guy, and a weird super~soldier boyfriend from Idaho--"

"Iowa," Buffy corrected.

Birdy nodded. "--From Iowa, who left you for a ...helicopter. And then Spike's back, and he gets a microchip in his head so he can't hurt people, and you find out Dawn's something not human, and a hell god tries to kill her. Somehow you end up jumping off a radio tower or something, and die again. Willow and co. revive you, pulling you out of heaven, Dawn goes delinquent, Willow goes to the dark side of the force, and Xander stops her from destroying the world."

"Righto."

"Spike comes back from wherever he went for whatever reason--"

"..."

"-and now he also has a soul."

"In a nutshell."

Birdy bit her lip in thought. "Huh." She nodded. "Okay... I guess I'll go with that. But there's still one thing I want to know."

"Mm?" Buffy was suddenly suspicious.

"When were you and Spike involved?"

"Involved? Involved in what?" Buffy hedged. Uhoh. New friend or not, that was more than she wanted to think about, let alone discuss.

"Involved in whatever you were involved in. You guys just _scream_ old flames. I'm just curious, that's all."

Buffy sighed. "It's a really long story," she started. "He tried to kill me for a few years, then decided he loved me, I used him for sex after I came back from the dead, and he went to Africa after trying to rape me. When he came back, he decided he didn't love me anymore just as I decided I did love him, but he hasn't tried to kill me again yet. The fact tha I see that as a promising sign tells you pretty much all you need to know about my love life." She paused. "Okay, I guess it wasn't that long, after all."

@ @ @

"Oh MY *GOD*! What have you done to my shop? What have you done to my _shop?!_ What have you _done_ to my shop?! What has he done to my shop?!" Anya stared aghast at the extremely expensive damage. It had, technically, been worse with Willow, but not by much. She turned her slightly glazed eyes to the bloodied, shredded woman leaning against the stairs. "Who are you? Did you do this? Giles, did she do this? Who did this?" 

Xander, who had recovered from his own initial shock, gently led her to the lone surviving chair and pushed her down into it. Anya kind of collapsed, weak~kneed from the shock. 

Xander tried to lighten the mood, of course. And fill the silence while the guilty parties caught their breath.  
  
"Jeez, Giles! We leave you alone for _one_ hour..." He clucked. "Bad Giles. And _you_, young lady--"

The woman straightened up, amazingly supporting her own weight. "I am Marion Krumpht. Birdy's new Watcher. Ripper and I ...go back."

"Uh huh. And you two just thought you'd have a little _duel to the death_ by way of reunion?"

Giles started to respond, but he was cut off as Anya let out a piercing scream, followed by several gasping sobs. Apparently she had reached the second stage of grief. 

Xander excused himself with a look and hurried over to do comforting fiancee things. 

Giles looked across at Marion. 

She looked back at him, daring him to speak.

About this time, they both realized that the animostity that had fueled the sudden battle had been burned away.

He reached up to pull off his glasses, only to realize that he wasn't wearing them. He blinked and squinted around himself. That was actually a bit of a relief. He had thought the blurry vision was from sweat and head trauma. "Ms. Krumpht, have you seen my glasses?" 

He bent to see the floor, and missed her mildly surprised expression. She had expected an insult, or some allusion to the fact that she had lost. This was a good sign. She had gotten all her fight out earlier, anyway. She peered around for the glasses, praying they weren't broken, like everything else in the store. That might put a crimp in their working relationship, just in case this didn't.

Giles took a cautious step, waving his hand close over the ground, like he was looking for a contact lens instead of a pair of wire~rimmed glasses. 

Across the room, Anya sniffled and said, "I hope you intend to pay for all this." There was righteous venom in her voice. Xander left off his back~patting as she stood, the closest to Anyanka he had seen her. 

There was a crunch of glass.

Marion looked down at Anya's foot. "Oh."

Giles blinked and squinted. "Ah. Found my glasses, then."

Anya kicked out, scattering the little shards of glass --Giles was the only person left on earth that didn't have scratch~resistant, indestructible plastic lenses-- into the plaster dust and mystical relic debris.

"Well you can just pay for those, too."

@ @ @

Did you notice the way I cleverly avoided that fight scene? Sort like a before/after kind of thing, without the violence? Trust me, I suck at fight scenes. You wouldn't like it. You'd probably just skim it even if I did write it, reading just enough to figure out who won. 

...Not that I do that... 

*ahem* 

Just use your imaginations to visuallize a battle between a twenty~something young woman (--with magic powers--, she hinted) and a middle~aged British librarian type. Have fun.

  
Yada yada yada review yada yada yada. Sorry. Ran out of gimmicks and other humourous ways to beg. And the airline lost my luggage. And neighbors moved. And my fish ran away. If not for my reviews, I'd have nothing left...  
Okay. I had one gimmick left. But now I'm seriously out. And that one wasn't even that good.

~Star Mouse 

[Irony Menu] [Continue]  
  
  


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	10. The Other One

**Chapter Ten: The Other One**

Welcome back! The renovations were relatively painless, I guess. Nothing to panic over. And FFN's basically back, right? All the essentials, anyway, I haven't tried everything out yet. This time the note actually has a purpose: If you ever thought you saw Birdie's name spelled "Birdy," you were hallucinating. Okay? That never happened. Really, I swear. And if you go back to previous chapters, and write snooty reviews saying, "Oh, yes it is *too* spelled with a 'y'."... Well, those chapters are lying, too. Just like your memories. Bad chapters. Bad, bad. 

On with the hijinks:

~Star Mouse

(That wasn't the hijinks, just yet.)

@ @ @

  
When Dawn arrived at the Magic Box after school, there was a sign on the door. She paused with her hand on the knob.

"Pardon our mess; We're renovating." 

She squinted through the dusty glass. "Huh. More like razing."

She eased the door open, careful not to let it fall down on top of her. It didn't swing well. She looked at the hinges. One was melted through. She looked back at the interior of the shop.

Xander, Giles, and another woman were engaged in various cleaning activities. Anya was standing to one side, like an Egyptian overseer watching the pyramids rise. The little bell had probably exploded, or something, so they hadn't noticed her yet. Too bad she had stopped with the theft thing. This would be the perfect opportunity...

She took in more of the damage. Well, except for that pesky 'no piece of merchandise in less than five parts' thing.

She walked over to Anya, sidestepping fractured ceiling beams and trying not to think about the fact that they couldn't hold the roof up when they were on the floor. 

"Hey, Anya. What happened? Ghoulie or paraphysical phenomena?"

Anya spared her a second's eye contact. "Hello, Dawn. No, you're looking at the handiwork of our own Rupert Giles."

"Giles? Giles did this?"

Anya nodded solemnly. "Him and that other one over there. Not Xander. The girl~one. And they're paying every cent of this back."

Dawn noticed an extra broom. "How long do you think this clean up effort is going to take?"

Anya reached out without turning her head and snagged the broom handle. She passed it off to the slightly leery teenager. "Start over by the stairs," she said. "Be sure to get the corners."

Dawn sighed and trudged over to the glorified ladder, to pay her debt to society and Anya.

@ @ @

"Giles? Giles did this?" Buffy looked around, sort of shocked, sort of impressed. This must have been one of those Ripper moments. It screamed 'good old days' like a howler monkey. 

Xander leaned on his broom. "Yup. Him and that one over there. I forget her name. She's British. New Watcher for Birdie."

"Oh. Kinda makes you glad the Watcher retreats are outside the continental US."

"Yeah. Always knew those shirts were stuffed with plastic explosives."

"Judging by the state of order this room is *not* in, I'm kinda with you on that. How's Anya taking the death of her baby?"

"Oh, just fine. She wigged at first, but after about five minutes, she was getting Giles and the other one's bank account numbers and handing them brooms. She's going through the inventory now, getting some numbers on the damages so she can charge them later."

"And you and Dawn..."

"We're volunteers. In the Snyder sense of the word."

"Oh. I getcha." She sighed. "I guess that's my lucky fate, too."

He stroke a somewhat noble pose. "It's too late for me, Buffy, but there's still hope for you. Run. Save yourself. Run fast, run far, and take Birdie with you before you're spotted."

Buffy was about ready to bolt, but she hung back. "Are you sure I shouldn't be here? You know, to keep Giles and ...the other one... From killing each other?"

"Nah. They've been holding trashbags for each other for the past hour or so. The storm seems to have blown over. Or hurricane, as the case may be. I guess she started it, but when we got here, Giles had her in a headlock, so he won. That's the best way a fight can go."

"Giles winning?"

"No, the one who started it losing. It kind of keeps the fighters even. It helps them work past the rumble."

"Oh. Way with the wise, Xan. I'm just gonna... You know."

"Hide. Gotcha. I'd go, but I wanna get married this time."

"Bye." Buffy managed, with Slayer stealth, to sneak to the door and out to freedom.

Where do you think she will go?

@ @ @

Spike climbed the ladder out of the sewer system. Before he was even technically in the crypt, he heard the knocking. He set down the baseball bat, still shaking dust out of his clothing. 

"Bullocks. That better not be who I think it is."

He climbed the next ladder, into the upper sanctum. And sighed. Only a Slayer or a nastie could bang that hard. And either way, he wasn't up to kill anything else tonight. He was at a pretty good, semi~nonviolent place emotionally right now. It had taken quite a while to get there, and he wouldn't be back in a lethal mood for a good hour or so. If only she could have waited a bit.

But no. He couldn't kill her.

It would break Dawn's heart.

He considered not answering. The old Buffy wouldn't care, would've just barged on in. But his new Buffy, the one that _cared what he thought_ *shudder* would just stand there knocking, or walk away quietly, not wanting to wake him. He knew. He had left her knocks unanswered in the past. But what if it was an emergency? If his problems with Buffy got someone killed... Well, his soul wouldn't really appreciate it very much.

He swung the door open with a sigh.

She looked up at him. Ventured a cautious half~smile. He didn't return it. He was starting to see why she had never dropped him any crumbs, once upon a time. He didn't want to feed this misguided, ill~timed thing in her. It would be crueller than anything else he could do.

"What is it, Slayer?"

"Um, can I come in?"

"Can I stop you?"

"Yes! I mean, you wouldn't have to. If you don't want me to come in, then you can just say it. I'm not going to barge in on you anymore."

"Don't come in."

Buffy stood there, on the threshold, for a moment. Just staring at his face, drinking in the sight of him, half~obscured in shadow, until he shifted uncomfortably, breaking the spell.

She blinked out of it, but didn't even bother to pretend to hide it.

Spike was impressed despite himself. She was at least going to be as honest about this as he had been. When he was insane. He sighed.

"Slayer, was there something in particular, or did you just come here to gape at my chiseled features? You're letting in sunlight, lu- Buffy."

His quick correction nearly broke her, but she managed to form a reply. "Um, no. It's nothing. Well, Birdie's new Watcher came."

"Oh? That'll be fun. Birdie deserves a Librarian of her very own. Is he a friend of Rupert's?"

"Uh, I don't think so. Her name's-- well, I don't actually know what her name is. But she looks sort of like Cordelia, paler. She and Giles destroyed most of the Magic Box this afternoon."

Spike perked up. "Really, now? That'd be those vibrations around noon. I thought it didn't feel much like an earthquake."

"Yeah. The ceiling's on the floor, and the merchandise....isn't."

He let out a low chuckle. Buffy's chest tightened. 

"I'll bet Xander's demon's having a conniption."

"Anya recovered pretty quickly, after Giles and the other one gave her their bank codes. They're in the process of cleaning up after themselves right now."

"And they didn't want your help?"

"Well..."

Spike picked up on the Slayer's meaning, and he had to laugh, again. "Ohh. I see. The noble Slayer's afraid of housework, is that it? And here I thought you came here to see me. I'm just an outlet, aren't I?" He looked at her for a second, standing on his threshold, like a vampire uninvited. She looked cold and broken in the heat of summer, and her sweaty hair clung to her skin and just made her look like she'd stepped out of an icy deluge. 

He smiled at her, and Buffy saw simple kindness in that smile. Like charity. She hated it, but as he stood aside to let her enter, she realized that she would take whatever she could get from him, and just pray it led to something more.

@ @ @

Birdie was reading when the doorbell rang. She paused for a second, unsure whether or not she should answer it, in that way houseguests do. She wasn't actually a real resident, after all. Well, she was, but if it happened to be the Social Services woman again, she'd have to do some explaining --aka lying-- to explain her presence and role in the Summer's family. At least she could honestly say she wasn't a gay witch. Not that she had a problem with Willow. It was just really amazing that SS had considered the redhead an acceptable role model in Dawn's life.

She stood up and headed for the door. If it was a package or something, she'd have to sign for it. And she was living here indefinitely, after all.

She swung the door open, opting against the cheery smile. Her scars made it look forced and unnatural.

There was a youngish woman standing on the porch, her back facing the door. She turned when she heard it open.

"Hallo," she said, with British accent thick and prominent. "You must be Birdie McGregor. I was told I'd be able to find you here."

"Um, yes. I'm Birdie. Can I help you?" She was pretty, pale, with redlighted hair in a chunked bob. There was a butterfly bandage on her brow, and a few fresh bruises on her exposed arms.

Birdie couldn't help but notice she was standing in a pile of luggage.   
"I'm Marion Krumpht." She held out a hand, and Birdie cautiously shook it. "I was sent by the Watchers' Council to guide your Slayer training."

Birdie cocked her head, just like a real bird. "Watcher? You're going to be my new Watcher? But Giles--"

"Oh, Mr. Giles is busy. He has a business to run, and a Slayer of his own. Plus, he isn't _actually_ a member of the council, so he technically doesn't count..." Marion trailed off. She followed Birdie's eyeline to her feet. 

"Oh! Right. The luggage. I spoke with Mr. Harris, and he told me that I could hole up in Ms. Summers' basement here until I locate an apartment of my own. He didn't seem to think she would mind."

"Oh. That's okay, then, I guess. Uh, nice to meet you, Marion."

"The pleasure's mine." The British woman smiled and picked up her bags. Birdie didn't actually invite her in, just stood aside so she could enter. When Marion passed through the threshold unhindered, except by her rather bulky luggage, the new Slayer breathed a silent sigh of relief. 

Just a month or two in, and she had already picked up on the most important lesson of Sunnydale: Better safe than sorry, in this town.

@ @ @

Review. I'll cry if you don't.

~Star Mouse 


	11. A little role reversal with your tea?

**Chapter Eleven: A little role~reversal with your tea?**

Hey, all. First off, I'm _so_ not a witch. So, just in case any of you people _are_, well I'm just gonna be vague and noncommittal~like on that front, to avoid snooty reviews saying stuff like, "You made them pray to the wrong pagen god of nature, you idiot!" So, just a little note. The most you'll be getting out of me about the whole wicca thing is 'candles' and perhaps a little light herbs. 'Cause that's all I pretend to know about.

Have a marvelous read, or a decent read, or whatever is possible with this increasingly convoluted story o' mine. And to Dreamzone and all you other impatient people-- plot's coming. It's a doozy, too. It just takes a little time to get set up properly. You wouldn't want me to plunge in all half~cocked, now would you? Big bad will probably be introduced w/in the next two chapters. But I'll try to keep you entertained until then, at least. I got a hit~counter, so I can see how many people read, as opposed to how many review. I'm sure it will be very interesting.

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

Willow dropped Dawn off at the Summers house after school, and Dawn invited her in for some chill time before she headed back to her apartment in the greater Sunnydale area.

Birdie was sitting in the kitchen, talking to someone. She looked up when Willow and Dawn entered.

"Hey, guys! How was school?"

"Homework," replied Dawn. "But it's a group project with Gim, so it evens out." She bounced through the kitchen and out the other side.

"Gim?" Birdie asked.

"Korean transfer student. Nice guy. He's in my first period programming." Willow set her bag down on a bar stool and ran a hand through her red hair. It had gotten longer. She was about ready to cut it again. She looked over at the woman Birdie had been talking to. Pretty.

Birdie realized witch and Watcher were waiting for introductions. "Oh, sorry, Willow. This is Marion Krumpht. She's my new Watcher. I hadn't realized you two hadn't met."

Willow smiled and shook hands. Marion cocked her head in thought. "Willow... You're the one that destroyed the magic shop last time?"

"Oh! Uh, yeah. Wh-why do you ask?" Willow drew her hand back. Not that she was ashamed of her past-- oh wait, she was. With good reason. That this Watcher knew about her little episode with anger~management --as in lack of such-- was worrying. _Especially such a dead hot one._

Shutupshutupshutup.

Marion smiled in a way she hoped was warm and inviting. "Oh, during the clean~up efforts this afternoon, your name was mentioned several times. Strictly in a businesslike comparative way, of course."

"Oh. Good." Willow paused. "Clean~up efforts?"

Birdie took her empty tea cup to the sink. "Apparently Marion and Giles had an _altercation_. No urn left unbroken."

"Oh." Willow realized she had started every sentence with that. She tried again. "Um," _damn_ "What exactly do you mean by altercation?"

Marion gestured to the butterfly bandage on her forehead. "The exciting kind. I'm ashamed to admit I'm the one that picked it, the one that brought the dark arts into it, and the one that lost it."

"Dark arts? I do dark arts!" Willow realized this was probably too enthusiastic a tone, and backed off the volume. But she did notice Marion's slightly~more~interested look. "That is, I did. Not so much anymore, because of the whole 'out~of~control~murderer' thing. I really just said that." _Crap_. But Marion just nodded understandingly.

"I understand completely. It's fantastic that you're overcoming your addiction. I imagine it's been difficult. You've probably needed a lot of support from your boyfriend, or husband, correct?"

Willow was confused. Was this Marion person trying to find out if she was available? Wicked! _No, don't be stupid, Willow. She's just being polite. Ya' know. Like a real person. _She sat down at the counter, across from the Brit. _Still, as long as she was asking..._ "The gang has helped a lot, but no boyfriend, per say. It was really actually my girlfriend's death that threw me over the edge..."

Birdie watched them with amusement, and then excused herself to the living room. Marion stopped flirting long enough to call at her.

"Your training regime starts tomorrow, Ms. McGregor!"

@ @ @

Buffy sat uncomfortably on the couch she and Spike had made much lumpier and threadbare than before. Several months ago. She cupped a mug of something not blood. She wasn't paying enough attention to it to identify it beyond that. Spike was walking around behind her, preparing something that _was_ blood. She tried again, slightly desperately, to initiate conversation.

"So... Have you talked to Dawn lately?"

"Yeah. Bit's by most days after school." Buffy turned around, surprised, and he raised an eyebrow. "Oh, did you not know that?"

"Uh, no. She said she goes directly to the Magic Box."

"Pretty much, she does. Just stops round for a little chit chat. Like a certain other Summers I know."

"Yeah. Us Summers girls. Big on the chatty." _Gyah, I'm babbling! When did I start babbling again? What am I, sixteen?_

"Right. Big on the chatty. You know she's started calling people she doesn't like wankers? I take pride in that."

Buffy set her mug down and stood, turning to face him. He had a pack of blood in his hand, and he was drinking it cold. "You know, you don't have to baby~sit her. I can tell her to stop coming over, if you want," she offered.

Spike sighed. "Slayer, when are you going to figure it out, already? Dawn isn't a nuisance. She's a friend. I _enjoy_ spending time with her. She's one of the few people in this town free of bullshit."

Buffy didn't answer right away. She knew she was included in Spike's list of bullshit people. She chewed her bottom lip, wondering where to go with the conversation now. That old feeling of 'let's kill Spike' was warring with her relatively new feelings of 'let's marry Spike and live happily ever after'. Just because she'd been going with the latter recently didn't mean the other one was totally alien. She ducked her head and took a sip of whatever it was she'd been holding, pressing her lips together as she swallowed to catch drips. She slowly set the mug back down on the beat-up table. _C'mon, Buff. Gotta reestablish eye contact at _some_ point._

When she looked up, he was watching her. She narrowed her eyes at the look on his face. If she didn't know better, she'd think that was his 'I'm gonna rip your clothes off' look. She hadn't seen _tha_t one in a while. The 'I'm gonna rip your clothes off' look was usually followed by the 'I just ripped your clothes off, and damn you're beautiful' look. She really liked that look. But the 'I'm gonna rip your clothes off' look had distinct plusses also... Wait.

Cautious realization dawned. 

"You still want me. Don't you," she whispered. It wasn't a question. He absently licked his lips, glancing down at her.

She took a step forward. 

He shook himself. "Don't be absurd, Slayer." 

Spike turned away, taking another pull at his bloodbag. Buffy swung him around by his shoulder. Like hell was she going to let him run. Running sucked.

"Who's absurd?" she whispered. And before he could protest --like he would-- she yanked him down by the fabric of his shirt and shoved her tongue down his throat.

Less than a second later, he slammed her up against the wall, and demonstrated to her just who had the more dexterous tongue.

And then they were kissing. Groping too, hey, always good, (_ohyeahso**good**) _but _kissing._

Buffy felt a surge of hope. It wasn't a perfect situation, and he tasted like blood, but the chemistry --all that roiling, boiling, smoking, acidic, violent chemistry that made her feel like she was going to explode-- was still there. It couldn't disappear. She had been so afraid that it had, that he really felt nothing. But now she knew differently. He still felt something. He still felt it... He had to.

Pulling back slightly for the oxygen only one of them needed, she whispered into his mouth, "I love you..."

Abrupt as a brick wall brake, Spike shoved her away, and she slammed into the refrigerator.

"Get out," he whispered, low and savage. He wiped his mouth and turned his back.

Buffy pushed herself off the refrigerator, breathing hard. "Spike--"

"Get out, Slayer. And don't come back. I mean it. I don't want to see you unless we need to save the world."

Heart still hammering way too fast she gasped out, "Spike, what the hell?!" 

"Get _out_."

"What. the. hell. is. the. matter. with. you?" Buffy took a few Slayer steps forward. She was trembling with fear for her nearly shattered heart, and rage. A lot of rage.

Spike turned back around. His eyes were glinting yellow and as he spoke his teeth flashed slightly longer than they normally would.  
"I said get out."

"You're being completely irrational, here. Don't tell me you didn't feel anything just then!" Her voice was rising, getting all high and shrewish like she hated. _Treacherous mouth. Damn damn damn.  
_  
"Oh, gee, I'm _sorry_, Slayer. Guess I've just had a few too many kicks to the head, is all. Screws your brain right proper. Makes you do the stupid, makes you think the insane.

He stalked forward in a very vampiric way. Buffy was suddenly and acutely aware that he could full well kill her here. And she couldn't kill him back. She nearly backed up, but she was rooted. Spike only stopped his slow approach when he was a hairsbreadth from her face, looking down on her.

"Us? That was insane. Only someone off his bleedin' _rocker_ would fall in love with a shallow. egotistical. _bitch_ like you." His gold and blue eyes locked with her teary hazel ones. 

"'m better now."

There was a moment of silence, of stillness, broken only by tiny sobs. Buffy wept, and a tiny corner of Spike's brain --and soul-- wondered if perhaps he had gone too far. He was almost ready to offer some noncommittal half~apology when his world exploded and he went down.

"Bluh'y _hell!"_

"You bastard." Buffy wiped her eyes with one hand, the other still clenched in a white~knuckled fist. "You utter utter bastard. I hope you fry to ash in hell."

And with that, she did her own signature stalk out of the crypt, thoughtfully leaving the door open, and Spike effectively trapped in the corner, wiping the blood off his nose.

@ @ @

Dawn peered down the stairs into the living room, praising heaven above that the witch and the watcher weren't engaged in some sordid lesbian lip lock. It looked like they were still talking about magic stuff. Like they had been doing all afternoon. Birdie had gone out about an hour ago for pizza. No one seemed to know where Buffy was, yet.

God, did Dawn want to learn magic. She had tried a few spells on her own, and nothing had exploded that wasn't supposed to, but she was kind of leery of getting in too deep without some sort of guidance. 

Granted, a former addict still going through slight withdrawal wasn't exactly the best teacher to have, but she trusted Willow. And everyone seemed to agree she was one _powerful _wicca. And she sort of needed to get started, like, now.

She waited until there was a lull in conversation, and then called down the stairs.

"Willow? Is a tange root supposed to be black?"

It was a carefully constructed question, guaranteed to illicit the desired response. It suggested an experiment was in progress, that she was semi~knowledgeable, and that if assistance wasn't given, it could go horribly wrong. Tange roots were used in some of the more challenging, dangerous spells out there, the ones that dealt with strong emotion and occasional teleportation. She knew this.

She also knew full~well tange roots were supposed to be green. She had had to wait months for the fresh one she had gotten from Anya to turn.

It was about ten seconds before Marion and Willow rushed into her room.

"Sweetie, don't do it!" Willow looked ready to forcibly tear a chant apart, and Marion was right behind her, looking just as panicked.

Dawn was sitting on her bed, surrounded by candles, holding the rotted root in one hand. Spell book open on her lap, notebook of latin translations beside her in the circle. She had spent quite a while manipulating adults, and she liked getting her way. Magic was darn well going to be her way. She would _not_ be the only one on this team without something to offer. Even Xander had merit as the lugging boxes and comic relief guy. She wanted to help, and this was how.

On with the show.

@ @ @

Birdie jogged down the sidewalk, balancing three pizzas over her head. There was a large cheese, for Dawn, a spinach~artichoke for Marion and Willow, who --gasp!-- liked the same thing, and a cheeseless vegetarian for her. She really wished Buffy had a car.

There was a scream to her right. 

She sighed. "Oh, come _on!_ It's barely sundown, people!" She dropped the pizzas and pulled a stake out of her waistband. Buffy had shown her all sorts of cool places to hide stakes. She ran into the dark alley on the roadside, where a guy was being accosted by a skanky~dressed vamp.

"Hey, blood~sucker. Dinner looks a little reluctant. How about a nice stake instead?" 

Buffy was also trying to teach Birdie the art of battle~banter, but it was slower going.

The skank~vamp dropped the guy --who didn't appear to be really hurt, what with all the screaming and running away-- and turned to Birdie.

"Yes? Can I help you?" she lisped through her fangs.

"Yeah, you can help me by standing very very still," Birdie replied, jumping forward. 

The vamp wasn't, apparently, one of the kung~fu proficient ones. She went down without much effort on Birdie's part. 

Birdie dusted the ...dust... Off her pants, or actually, Buffy's pants, and looked around for any interesting jewelry of a prophetic or symbolic nature, just in case the vamp had happened to drop it. Giles' suggestion. No go, though. She replaced the stake in her waistband and jogged back to the pizzas, still undisturbed.

As she headed back to the Summers' like a good little hunter~gatherer, she muttered under her breath.

"Hey, blood~sucker-- how bout some stake with your ...meat. No. Um... '....Blood~sucker-- why don't you try a little stake sauce!' Oh, that sucks. 'Blood~sucker-- have some.... Hey vampy! Kick some bucket..."

@ @ @ 

  
  
This is just the first step in getting Buffy and Spike together. Buffy was being too wimpy. It was hard to write, and she was getting on my nerves. Let's hear it for kick~ass Buffy! Yay! She's back, and she'll probably be doing a few trips to 'Personal Angst Land', but things can only go up from here.

I'm trying to figure out a good spot to bring the Buffybot into the main "plot". Helpful hints?...

~Star Mouse 


	12. Blood, Mmm good

**Chapter Twelve: Blood, Mmm good.**

Greetings. More ignorant wicca references on my part. Don't have a cow; I don't know what the hell I'm talking about. Big Bad next chapter! Duh duh _dunnnn_... And everybody clap for me-- I think I passed my exam! Yay! Oh, sorry. Buffyland. Right. On w/ far~fetched fic....

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

A week later.

"So, if I add the basil, then the whole thing changes from a locating spell to a protection spell..."

"But if you add the mint..."

"It's a.... .trans..lat..or?"

"Correct. Now tip that jar into the mix. It should turn blue."

Marion watched from the blender as Dawn carefully dumped the ground basil into the plastic mixing bowl. She recited the couplet clearly and distinctly, then she and Willow peered into the bowl.

"It's not blue," Dawn said, after a moment. "It's sort of a grey~ish kind of browny color. Is that bad?"

"Uh, potentially." Willow flipped through the pages of the text they had --bought-- from Anya's newly refurbished Magic Box. One week had to be some kind of record for that much damage erasure, but Slayer~strength times two and severely guilt~tripped Marion and Giles had probably had something to do with it. This new book had been a part of the sparkly new stock the blonde demon had been getting in by the box load in the last few days. She had, of course, made Willow pay for it before it left the shop. 

And it didn't really say anything about greyish brown.

"Hey, Marion? What do ya think this means? She said it right, I'm pretty sure."

Marion came over, carting the blender barrel, loaded with what was either a mystical salve of some kind or a herbal~enriched smoothie. Kinda green. Marion leaned over to look at the goop in the bowl, most definitely not blue.

"Huh. That's right odd, now isn't it? Are you sure you said it properly?"

"Yeah; 'Sandvo mielqae nochton screalloc dob.' and repeat." 

The three women looked contemplatively at the bowl. 

Willow's finger shot into the air. "Ooh! Ooh ooh!" She picked up the salt shaker and flicked several teaspoons into the mix. "We forgot to add the extra sodium when we substituted the camomile for the pinseed."

"Ohhhh." Marion took a sip of her --apparently-- smoothie, and flicked a hand through Willow's hair on her way back to the counter, mystery solved.

Dawn quickly said the couplet again, and squealed as the mix turned blue.

@ @ @

There was a knock on the door to Spike's crypt. The first in a week. 

He took off his reading glasses and set down the book.

There it was again. Not a fluke, then.

He debated on whether to answer it or not. It didn't smell like Buffy, but he really didn't want to take a chance on that one. Couldn't risk a repeat of last week. That had just been ....weird. Utterly wrong and meaningless, but. It was just. And. Kind of. _Shut the hell up, Spike. You're making an ass of yourself, and you're not even speaking._

He got up and answered the door.

"Hi!" Birdie chirped.

"Oh. Slayer the Second. How's that workin' out for you?"

"Great! I'm really liking the muscle tone thing. And the world save~age is good too, I hear."

"Here two months, and you're already talkin' like a bleedin' Scoobie. Come on in." He turned and headed back into the crypt. Now the door was open, and he could identify the smells, he could sense her following him at several feet. No sound, though. Good girl.

"Anything in particular you came for, or just a chat with the local undead liaison?"

"Just wanted to talk. You know, I've made all these new friends, all at once. I don't want to lose them right away." She played with the frayed back of the couch. "You haven't really been patrolling in the last week or so. I came to see what's up."

Spike figured he'd have some blood while he was off the couch. Test the chit's constitution. 

"Nothing up, really. Just thought I'd back off and let you two Slayers have some fun." He pulled a bag out of the refrigerator --human, A neg-- and vamped his mouth out. He speared the plastic with his fangs.

Birdie nodded thoughtfully. "Well, that was nice of you. I admit, the extra practice I've been getting in is really good for me, at this point, does this have anything to do with Buffy?"

It took Spike a second to catch up with the seemingly random topic~shift. He swallowed the blood in his mouth and lost the toothy grin, so he wouldn't lisp. "Wha-?"

"It's just that _she's_ acting pretty weird, and _you_ aren't spending much in the way of quality time with the Scoobies, and it's obvious she really likes you, so I'm just guessing something happened." She sat down on the edge of the couch, looking straight at him and his bag of blood. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He took another pull. Maybe she'd go away. "Not particularly."

She glanced at the bag. "You're not grossing me out, you know."

"Huh?"

"The blood. You think you're grossing me out, but you're not." Birdie stood and strode over to where he was standing. She took the blood bag from his unresisting hand. 

She was taller than Buffy. Her face was really close to his, and he could see all the tiny little scars within scars that made up the roadmap on her face. Lots of scars, all a silent but screaming testament to the pain she had endured. The pain she hadn't revealed to anyone. The pain that would bring with it a loss of innocence...

She put the blood~bag to her lips. There was a slurpy, sucky noise, and he watched the level drop for a minute, before he realized--

"Hey, that's my dinner you're drinking, there!" He snatched the bag away, splattering blood on the ground. "What kind of sicko are you, Slayer?"

"The worst kind. The kind that's made by people. Look, Spike: I've done --was forced to do-- a lot of things that disgusted me at the time. A lot that nearly killed me, and _didn't_ make me stronger. Drinking blood is one of them." Birdie wiped the blacky~crimson liquid off her mouth and turned to go.

"If you ever want to talk-- about Buffy, about anything, I'll be glad to listen." She paused for a second, and then glanced over her shoulder. "Or talk. If you want to listen."

She left Spike standing there, one fist clenched over the top of the blood bag. He looked down at it.

"Ew."

@ @ @

Anya surveyed the Magic Box. Plywood, as yet unpainted, showed here and there. And the shelves were bare, but quickly filling. She unwrapped another mystic talisman and set it next to the others. Stood back. Tilted the piece a bit to the left. Much better.

She glanced back in the box. That was the last of that shipment. She was glad she had so many demonic connections. Restocking the store would have taken _forever _without them. And several speedy trips to the Asian subcontinent. 

She cut open another box with a ceremonial copper blade. Shuffled through the packing peanuts, humming the theme from 'Star Wars.' Oh. These were the amulets from Guinea. She'd have to give them a new shelf of their very own.

The ring sounded above the door. Some idiot unnamed *coughcough*Xander*cough* had replaced that God~awful bell, first thing. Sweet, sentimental, stupid. She turned to see Dawn jog in.

"Hi, Anya. I need an amulet, silver at best, bronze okay. Like, right now, before it dries."

Anya didn't bother to ask what would dry. She grabbed the first amulet out of the packing and held it out to Dawn. The girl reached for it, but Anya pulled it back.

"$18.99."

"Oh, come on!" Dawn started to form an argument, but remembered who she was talking to. And the blessedly blue goop cooling on her counter. She sighed and fished in her pocket. Produced a twenty~note. 

Anya made change with --appropriately-- inhuman speed, and put the amulet in a little baggie.

"Thank you. We appreciate your business. Have a nice evening." 

Dawn rolled her eyes, grabbed the bag, and made tracks out the door.

Anya wrote out a quick but accurate receipt, and went back to unpacking the rest of the amulets.

@ @ @

Outside Spike's crypt, Birdie grimaced and licked her lips. Flossing was definitely in her future. She hated blood, but the point had needed making. Maybe now he would open up a little more.

She owed these people, Buffy, everything. For taking her in, for making her one of them. And if she had to play matchmaker to pay them back, then that's what she would do.

But any straight on 'double date, ooh, have you noticed how hot she is?' tactics would be wasted on people as stubborn as she had already realized these two were. If she didn't want to wedge them apart, she would have to be delicate, and, above all, subtle.

She slid a stake out of her sleeve --another handy spot. _But first..._ She trekked into the cemetery, to seek out that which goes bump in the night-- and beat the glowing green snot out of it.

@ @ @

  
  
"It's a what?"

"A protection amulet. It'll, you know, protect you." 

Buffy eyed the necklace with the look a mother might give the 'special pie' that her young child has made her. She looked up at Willow and Marion, who smiled and nodded encouragingly.

"'T's alright, Buffy," Marion offered. "I watched. The spell went very smoothly. There's no reason to be so leery."

Buffy cautiously took the necklace from Dawn's hand. Her sister was grinning the 'I did it myself, aren't you proud?' grin.

"Sorry, it's just ...we kind of have a weird history around here, with the magic stuff. It tends to ...go wrong."

Marion raised her eyebrows, and glanced at Willow. "Oh. I didn't realize. Of course, you don't need to wear it if you would rather not."

"Yes she does!" Dawn lowered her brows and thrust the talisman at Buffy. "I worked hard on this. It's my first training spell! C'mon, Buffy! It's totally harmless. That's the point!"

Buffy looked from the necklace to Willow. The redhead shrugged concession. Buffy looked back at the amulet, which did indeed look harmless, if a bit 'palm~reader' for her tastes. 

She sighed and slipped it over her neck.

Dawn clapped. "Yay! Now that wasn't so hard."

@ @ @

"See? That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Birdie shook the dust out of her hair. Fledglings were simple. Hardly _any_ of them knew karate.

@ @ @

Giles polished a glass and eavesdropped intently on a conversation going on at the other end of the bar. He was a bit rusty on his Mandarin, but he was getting the gist of it. Something about an army. Then nightclubs. Topic~shift. Blast. No doubt it would make sense when they were knee deep in it. Now he had that to worry about all night. Added to all the other half~rumors that made it to his ears, and he was a basket case in the making. Better write it down, before he forgot...

"G~man! How's it goin'?"

Giles set the glass down. "Ah, Xander. What will it be? Milk?"

"Hey! I'm a manly man. I don't order milk in a _bar_... He looked around at what some of the other beasties were drinking. Looked back at the Brit.

"Chocolate."

"But of course." Giles poured a glass and set it in front of the dark~haired young man. On a whim, he fished a novelty straw out from under the bar, and dropped it in the milk. 

"Cool!--I, uh, mean, juvenile, Giles. Very cute."

"Was there something in particular, Xander, or shall I assist my other customers?"

"Yeah, there was something." Xander strove to be serious. "It's, uh, about the wedding...."

"Good lord, you're not going to retreat again, are you?"

"No! God, no. But, there's sort of a problem. Anya's really going all out on this one, and she hasn't even mentioned demons. At all. Like on the invitations, there aren't any ancient symbols or RSVPs out of this dimension or anything. And her bridesmaid dresses? Not a _word_ about blood, larvae, or burlap."

"Mm." Giles didn't know exactly where this was going, and tried to spur the conversation along. He was running a business, here, after all.

"And I'm kinda thinking she's doing this to make me happy, or something. Since her demon part sort of broke us up, it's like she's trying to bury it to fit better with my plans."

Giles blinked. "Why, Xander. That was most profound."

Xander ducked his head. "Yeah. I want to show her that I've accepted her heritage. Ya'know? Like, some sort of grand gesture, or something. I figured you'd be the one to ask. All the big dusty books and eye~glass rubbing." He took a sip of the milk, watching it run through the loops in the straw tubing.

"Xander Harris." His head shot up, mouth still on the novelty straw. Giles smiled, and clapped a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"That is one of the most mature things I have heard from you in all our association. I am filled with a new hope for your generation. Yes, of course, I'll be glad to help."

@ @ @

Lala. Don't drink blood. I know it's gross, but I really needed to establish Birdie as a kind of unknown element. Not just some girl~next~door innocent that just happened to have patterned scars all over her face. I'll get to her full story in due time. Same w/ Marion Krumpht and Giles. (I just have to think of it first....)

And I'll try not to focus on the original characters too much, 'cause I know you guys hate them.

Blah blah blah, review, blah blah.

~Star Mouse 


	13. Another icky bathroom scene

**Chapter Thirteen: Another icky bathroom scene.**  
  
Greetings. I know I said the BB would be by around now, but I lied. Bad Star Mouse. I apologize, except not really, because this chapter has plot, and is really essential to introducing the Big Bad, so ha. But it will probably be into villain~ness *next* chapter.

I have a geography test tomorrow, on Northern Eurasia. Whee. a lot about stupid communists and prideful czars (except when they called themselves Great Princes) and lots of consonants, and few vowels. I did a report on Kyrgyzstan, so i know what i'm talking about, here. 

You know when the jealous nobles (vocabulary word: boyars) tried to kill Rasputin, they invited him over to dinner, and fed him poison. He's all, "Mmm good. More, please." They watched, aghast, as he cheerfully and unknowingly swallowed enough poison to kill several people his size. 

The nobles had a powwow out in the hall. One volunteered to go in and stab him dead. So he goes in, takes a (butter) knife, and stabs Rasputin bloody and dead. He goes back out. "Ok, he's dead." They go in, to check the corpse or something, and Rasputin lunges up from the floor, screaming (and dripping) bloody murder. 

So they knock him senseless with their huge, diamond-encrusted jewelry, and drag him outside, to the river. The river is frozen over. they chop a hole in the ice, dump him- who is starting to stir- in through the opening, and slam the lid back on top. THey can see him struggling for purchase, clawing at the ice, etcetera. They watch for a bit, and go back inside to finish dinner. 

The next day, they go back down to check out their handiwork, and they see his lifeless fingers, nearly clawed through the ice. An autopsy was done, and his cause of death was determined to be drowning -- water in the lungs. Not poisoning, loss of blood, puncture, concussion, exposure, or shock. He swallowed river water and choked on it. 

Creepy.  
....

And on *that* cheery note, on with the story!

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

Dawn came home from school early, on account of the principal had gone insane and set the cafeteria on fire. Again. There'd be a new one on Monday, but for now it was a three~day weekend. Woohoo! 

She knew no one would be home. This was Buffy's training time, Willow, as part of the staff, did *not* get the day off from school, and Birdie would be training with Marion at the Magic Box.

And as teenagers faced with an empty house will sometimes do, she started to daydream.

She was the Slayer. Stealthy, super~strong, and she was tracking a vampire. Her stupid big sister had invited it into the house, and it was somewhere in here. She had to kill it before it killed her. 

Silent as a shadow, she crept inside, carefully lifting the door on its hinges so it didn't squeak. No. Her last stake had disintegrated with the vampire that had attacked her in the sewers on her way home. She'd have to improvise.

Dawn the Vampire Slayer stalked through the kitchen. Pulled a wooden~handled salad tong from the drawer. Her head spun to the stairs. What was that? The fiend was upstairs. She could play that game.

She took the stairs two at a time, avoiding the creaky ones. Making only light taps with her sneakers on the wood surfaces. Stopped at the landing, cocked her head, dashed to the bathroom, with it's open door, struck a pose, and froze.

Buffy 

was on the floor, 

gagging into the toilet, 

one finger down her throat. .

Dawn watched, aghast and gaping, as Buffy retched her lunch into the toiletbowl. The Slayer's hands gripped the sides of the bowl, clenching spasmodically. Tried to force more out of her when her stomach emptied.

Dawn found her voice, and motor controls. "Oh, God." She dropped the salad tong and hurried to her sister's side. She pulled her hair back from her face and held it. 

Buffy was sobbing. And retching. And sobbing, and gagging. When nothing more came out, and all she had left was tears, she wiped her mouth with a trembling hand and flushed. Then she turned in towards her sister and collapsed onto her shoulder.

Dawn closed her eyes in pain as her sister hugged her full~force, but she hugged her back. And realized she was crying too. 

"God, Buffy! What were you doing?" she asked in a whisper.

Buffy just shook her head into her shoulder and sobbed.

Dawn held her on the bathroom floor until the sobs died, and the tears stopped. She pulled away gently, to look in Buffy's face. Really red and blotchy. Better not let her near a mirror until it had calmed down a bit. 

"Buffy?"

"Dawn..." Her sister rubbed a palm over her face. "Dawn. You can't tell anyone. Promise me you won't tell anyone."

"What, just keep it our little secret that you're bulimic?"

Buffy looked up, startled. "Bu--oh. Right. Bulimia. Yeah, that's what I was doing."

"How long?"

Buffy swallowed, and stood shakily. "...A week?"

Dawn stood too, and pointed angrily at the floor. "Well it stops here! You can't do this to yourself, Buffy. I'm going to get you a glass of gingerale. We need to talk about this."

Buffy nodded. "Right. Talk, we will. I'm just gonna, you know, brush my teeth."

Dawn nodded slowly, swallowed, and headed for the kitchen, grabbing the tong up from the floor.

Buffy listened to her clomp down the stairs, and then turned to the sink. Picked up the empty pill bottles, and buried them in the waste basket.

Thank God Dawn hadn't seen anything.

@ @ @

Birdie kicked out again. And again. And again. One, two, One, _I never heard you cry,_ Two, One, _And you never heard me scream, _Two, One, _But I heard the door click closed and I burned your clothes and...   
_  
She fell into the rhythm of the song, one from her collection, and her feet hit with each beat. She got her fists into it, too, and started with some syncopation. Changed the rhythm slightly, staying in the tempo. Hemiola? Sure. Tri~puh~let~tri~puh~let~Whamm! 

She let the bass guide her, but buried her soul in the riffs of the lead guitar, fixed her heart on the lyrics. The bag swung wildly, and she caught it as if was halfway back to her. Batted it back and forth and back and forth and FORTH and back and forth and back...

"Alright, then, that's enough of that!" The music faded as Marion twisted the knob on the volume control. "What say we work on some of the martial arts you've been learning? I've noticed you drop your arms when you front kick. That leaves your torso exposed, and we can't have _that_, now can we? Besides," she added, smugly, "your music's complete shit."

"Right. And . . . _Pufpuf_ . . . BloodSole's thought-provoking lyrics blow Entity's out of the water." Birdie hugged the bag to stop it swinging, and wiped the sweat out of her face, slicking her hair back as she did. The song still echoed in her head.

"Buffy said I needed to work on my uppercuts," she tagged, before they could get into a _real_ debate about the merits of Birdie's favored alternative punk vs Marion's 'acid' punk.

Marion nodded, one corner of her mouth pulled up. "I agree. Too slow. But I was very impressed with your flip~work last night. You're getting a lot of height on that." _And BloodSole's lyrics can scorch your heart, so there,_ she added silently.

Birdie shrugged off the compliment. "Do you want to spar, or just watch me run some katas?"

Marion shook her head. "We'll wait for one of the Superhumans for that. I'm too slow to really teach you anything through practice. Besides, I'm not dressed properly."

The pantsuit/Gilesette getup had lasted exactly one day. Marion, to everyone's general surprise --at least until they got a good look at her music library-- dressed punk. The plaid kilt, black tee, army boots way. Liberal safety pins, several piercings. She'd told Willow something about not all of them being on her face.

"I don't know about slow, but I'm sure you could hurt me if you wanted to. You and Giles busted this place up pretty good last month."

Marion cleared her throat, and ducked her head a bit. "Yes, well."

Birdie stretched a little, bouncing on the balls of her feet to get loosened up. 

"You know," she continued, "neither of you guys has actually come clean about that whole thing. What was it, anyway?"

Marion blushed a little. Birdie remembered that Willow had told her she thought it was cute. Birdie did a few quick toe~touches, then a couple side kicks. 

"C'mon. 'Fess up. You're too young to be his jilted lover...." Her eyes got wide, and slightly panicked. "Right?"

Marion blanched. "Ugh! Right, right! Eugh! No, that wasn't it at all. It was ...very stupid, actually."

"So? Spill."

"Alright, fine. *Deep sigh* I...failed. The first time I took the written exams for the Watcher title? And the low score that sent me into the failing range was ...awarded by Ripper Giles."

Birdie blinked. "You mean Rupert."

Marion shook her head. "No, all the students called him Ripper. Bit of tongue~in~cheek, 'cause he was so stodgy all the time. But anyway, I retook the test five years ago, after he was selected in the new Watcher post here. Passed, of course."

Birdie stared. "You beat him up because he _flunked_ you?"

Marion shrugged apologetically. "S'rry."

Birdie started the katas. "That is so bizarre."

@ @ @

"C'mon, Ahn. Let's go get some food."

"No! We can't rest for a _second_ until we have this done. The wedding's in a week, Xander, and how many invitations have gone out? Zero! None!" She dived back into the pile of cream~colored envelopes. "Now _lick!_ Lick for all you're worth!"

Xander ignored all the puns possible from her outburst, and grabbed another filled envelope. Licked the adhesive. Pressed it shut. Pulled a stamp off the roll. Stuck it on [the stamps, blessedly, were self~adhering.]. 

It took thirty minutes to get through the pile. When they were done, Anya gathered the stiff squares of paper together and began shuffling them into a neat stack.

"Okay, now we just need to call the caterer, go by to pick out the cake on the way to the post~office, oh, and hire the valet for the parking -"

He guided her into the elevator and set it moving.

"Ahn, calm down. Everything's going to be fine." Xander took hold of her arm and led her gently out the door of the apartment. "I took care of it. I also called the florist and got him to take out that order of tulips you had second thoughts about. Everything's fine," he repeated. 

Anya hugged the stack of invitations. Then her head perked up as she registered Xander's words. "You did? Really?"

"Yup. I, Super~Groom, also picked up the tuxes, passed them out to the manly men, and took your order to the caterer. We can drop these," he tapped the stack of invites, "off on our way to lunch."

"Aw, Xander!" She wiggled happily. "Thank you. I'm very happy now."

"Good. 'Cause there's one more surprise."

The elevator stopped, and they started down the hall to the front lobby. The car was parked out in front. 

"Surprise?" Her eyes narrowed. "Good surprise or bad surprise?"

"Good, I hope. Unless you've undergone drastic changes in the last few months that I don't know about."

"Uh huh?"

"Yeah. . . .You know how you said you didn't want to be married by an old guy in a dress that lisped like a cartoon duck?"

"Yes..."

"Well, how's two out of three?"

"Huh?"

"D'hoffryn. He's going to be the one giving us directions and stuff. You like?"

Anya fumbled for words. "Xander, I-- I don't know what to say. How did you get him to answer you?"

Xander looked sideways at her as he started the car. He couldn't tell if she was happy about this or not. Maybe this had been a big mistake... "I summoned him. Just like with you. We had a chat. When he found out we were back together, he was a lot nicer."

Anya blinked. "... Xander. That ...was very dangerous." Xander looked over at her. Back at the road. Back at Anya.

"Ahn? Are you crying?"

*Sniff* "It's just so sweet. You did that for me?"

Xander hooked an arm around her shoulders. "All for you. Was it a good idea? Should I cancel?"

"No! No, don't cancel! This is perfect!" Anya wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a squeeze. "Mm. Thank you, Xander. This means so much. I love you."

"I love you too, Ahn."

@ @ @

Buffy sipped her gingerale. Dawn sat across the table from her, glaring at her big sister in a big~sisterly way.

"Now spill. Why are you barfing up your food?"

_I don't need to barf it up, because I don't eat it. What you saw wasn't lunch, it was my diet for the last five days. This gingerale is the first thing besides water I've had in the last two.  
_  
"I don't know."

"Wrong answer, Buffy. You've got to have a reason, and I don't think it's a weight thing. Why were you hugging the toilet like that?"

_Because I swallowed about twenty sleeping pills and then had second thoughts._

"I hate myself." _Close enough._

Dawn sighed. "Is this about Spike?"

_Yes._ "Of course not. This is about me. I'm a terrible person, and I should be punished." _Wow. That was actual honesty._

Dawn shook her head. "Buffy... God. How am I supposed to handle this? You're supposed to be my guardian. And you're destroying yourself over whatever the hell you're not telling me. What does it mean?"

"Watch your language," Buffy murmured. She took another sip of gingerale.

"Oh, ...Bloody hell!" Dawn stood, leaning forward on her fists. No doubt a posture she'd picked up from Spike, just like the epithet. "I'm telling Giles."

Buffy stood, slightly shakily. "No! Don't--" her throat clenched. _Odd. Must be from the throwing up._ She swallowed for a second. "Don't tell Giles."

"He should know."

"He _shouldn't_ know. There's nothing to know. I won't do it anymore, I swear." Her eyes pleaded with Dawn. The teenager was put off balance by this whole situation. She hated all the role~reversal going on around here. Buffy was supposed to be the responsible one looking out for her. She swallowed and nodded. 

"I won't tell."

@ @ @

Review, please. It rocks my world. Stay tuned for next chapter. Let's hear it for kilts!

~Star Mouse 


	14. Odd things demons can do to your system

**Chapter** **Fourteen: Odd things demons can do to your system.**

Greetings, all. I got about 200 hits in the last two days, and two reviews.... Tut tut tut. You guys really must not have liked it. Sorry. I'll try to do better. And for some strange reason, chapter eleven has about forty more hits than any other chapter. Why is that?

Fyre: I liked your idea for Birdie, but I didn't totally understand the vampire part. The thing is, I don't want her to in any way have expected to be called as a Slayer. So it would be hard for her to tell that story. Once I figure out some other plot stuff, I'll try to work it in, really.

At long last: A bad guy!

~Star Mouse

  
@ @ @

Buffy went out patrolling that night, with Dawn watching worriedly from the doorway. Buffy's movements were kind of jerky, like she hadn't been getting enough sleep. Or enough food. But she had insisted on going out, and Dawn had called Spike to meet her and keep and eye on her. 

Dawn didn't pretend to know the whole story on what was going on with her sister, but she knew enough. Something was seriously wrong with Buffy. Her personality had been getting gradually darker since their mother's death. This latest angst was just a catalyst. A multiplier of problems already there. However Spike fit into it this time, she didn't really want to know. More sordid goings on between her sister and her big brother were _not_ conducive to happiness. And Dawn, above all else, wanted them both to be happy.

She watched Buffy disappear into the darkness.

@ @ @

Willow walked into her living room, where Marion was sitting, reading a book. Just a little study date. Except there was nothing to study. 

...And it wasn't a date.

"Marion, we have a problem." She stopped. That wasn't really a good way to start. "Uh, possibly. You know that protection spell we did with Dawn?"

Marion put down the book. "Yes."

Willow tried to sound casual. Waved a nail~picking hand vaguely.   
"Um, what color would you say it turned? Cerulean, or more sort of denim~ish? Out of curiosity?"

The young Watcher's face took on a slightly panicked look. "What's the right answer?"

"Just, which."

[With the expression of a person given a choice between two buttons, very aware that one is attached to the anvil suspended above her] "....I suppose....Cerulean?"

"Shit."

"Shit? Why shit? What did we do?!"

"I dunno. This always happens to me. S-somehow, our protection spell turned into a summoning spell."

"Willow. Summoning what, exactly?"

"heheheh."

@ @ @

Spike saw her. And instantly realized something was wrong. She looked like she barely had the energy to stand. His vampiric sight detected a slight jerk in her walk, too, like she was overtired. He felt a pang when he realized she was showing symptoms of serious depression. 

Now why would she be depressed?

When he had thrown her out of the crypt-- it had been a moment of panic. A panic because he _had_ felt something. Not love. But something close enough to it to scare him out of his mind. Scared he was going out of his mind.

No matter how he felt about her, --not that he knew, anymore-- he couldn't let her patrol alone like this. Dawn hadn't been exaggerating. 

Stupid--. She could get herself killed.

But then she fell. Her legs buckled underneath her and she collapsed in a pile of Buffy and was still.

He started to run out to her, but he heard her crying. She was crying like volume was the important thing, and like tears could make everything better.

He could make everything better.

But he couldn't. And he backed into the shadows once again, and watched her until the sobs lessened and died, and then he watched her stand and walk wearily away, still stiff and uncoordinated, like her body wasn't her own. Like her mind was fighting something else inside her. Her heart, perhaps?

He'd follow her as far as the main street, then get back to the crypt. It felt ...weird. Watching her, stalking her. The last time he'd done this sort of thing, he'd been insane with love. Now, apparently, he was just insane. 

@ @ @

Buffy lurched forward. Like a stick~shift in the hands of a sixteen~year~old. Really lurched. It was like she couldn't control her body. Exactly like that. Like something else was trying to, on top of her. 

She pulled her cell phone out of her purse, and a shaking finger pressed and held 'one.' Collapsed against the wall of the building next to her.

Giles answered on the second ring. "*ghm* Hello?"

"Gi--iles. I--. I--. Something's wroOOong. I can't--. ...Help me. I can't--" Frustration. Tears. She knew what she wanted to say, but the words wouldn't form. She was shaking, and she couldn't control her mouth.

"Buffy? Buffy, where are you?"

"Sixth -nd MAAAAAAAAaaaAAAAAaaaAAAAin. I think there's something. *She struggled for control of her lungs. Pulled to inhale as something within her struggled to loose all the air from her. Won, for now.* Wrong. Hel--....."

"Buffy?! Buffy, stay right there. I'm sending Willow. She'll be closest. Hang on. I'll call you back after I get her. Hold on, Buffy."

Buffy tried to talk, but nothing came out. Her head nodded of her own accord. She turned the phone off, and dropped it. 

She dropped to her knees on the pavement.

"Come on; this doesn't have to be so hard," and the voice was hers, but it wasn't her.

"Oh, God." That was her. "Oh, God, what's happening--?"

She grabbed the ground, like she'd fall off if she didn't gain purchase. Buffy closed her eyes in a long blink, 

and then they opened.

But it wasn't Buffy who stood, and it wasn't Buffy who laughed, and it wasn't Buffy who jogged away, leaving her cell phone on the pavement.

@ @ @

Spike watched from the shadows. Looked like she'd had a fainting spell, or something. But she seemed okay, now. Strangely, the slight jerk from before was gone. She seemed back to normal. 

Probably safe to quit with the stalker routine, then.

@ @ @

Giles rubbed his eyes. "It should be fine. Buffy is strong--"

"Not when she throws up after every meal." 

Willow and Marion turned to look at Dawn, surprised.

Giles sighed. "Buffy is *not* bulimic, Dawn. And I frankly don't understand why you were permitted to come along."

"Oh, come on, Giles. It's not like this is my first demon bar."

Willow and Marion had called Dawn to tell her to lock Buffy up, and when they had gone to get Giles, she had tagged along.

The thought of conversing via cell phone never entered their heads. They had to be face to face. Some habits die hard.

"Buffy is _so_ bulimic. I found her barfing into the toilet today."

Willow's eyes darted back and forth. "Maybe she was sick," she said.

"She told me not to tell anyone."

Marion swallowed worriedly. "That probably rules out the 'ill' theory, then, now doesn't it?"

"Incredibly, that is not the most important thing at this juncture." Giles picked up his jacket from behind the bar. "If you three really have summoned some ...demonic force, then Buffy --and all of us-- could be in serious danger. If she's wearing the charm, she'll be susceptible to its influences. We have to destroy that thing. It's the only way to break the link."

Marion coughed. "Er, not exactly."

Giles turned carefully. "Oh?"

"Er, no. That ...won't...do anything. She put it on. The initial link her body made with the demon can't be broken by destroying the charm. The only way to overcome it is for her to fight it within and of herself."

Willow nodded. "Hey, that's why it didn't happen immediately! Buffy's all strong 'cause of the Slayer~yness. Maybe she's still fighting it?"

Giles' brows knit. "I- I don't know. On the telephone, she sounded ...very weak. Like she was losing control. Could barely form sentences." He thought about it. "Actually, I don't think she did form a sentence."

"Do you think--"

"The demon's winning. We have to find her." He pulled his jacket on and started across the bar. Dawn held out a hand.

"We'll find her. You have to stay here and make sure no one raids the blood~fridge."

"Dawn, my Slayer is more important to me right now than watching after some demon bar."

Willow shook her head. "Nno. She's right. If you leave, there'll be a way big bar riot, or something. You have to stay here. Plus, hey, cell phones," she said, suddenly remembering. "We can keep in touch."

Marion gently pushed him back behind the bar.

"Sorry, Rippeh. 'S your duty to stay here and sehve drinks."

They left, leaving Giles to be comforted by the demons close enough to hear, and drunk enough not to be rushing off to take advantage of the Slayer's weakened state.

@ @ @

  
Dawn, Willow, and Marion piled into Willow's car, the witches cursing their lack of supplies, Dawn bitching about the speed at which Willow was driving/

About halfway to the intersection of sixth and main, a familiar figure loomed in the headlights.

"Will, Stop!"

The brakes screeched, and Dawn was out of the car before either of the other women could protest.

"Dawn, no! Don't--" Marion scrambled out after her.

Willow desperately fumbled at her seat belt. "Doesn't anybody have any regard for safety?" she muttered and hopped out of the driver's seat, leaving the keys in the wheel.

Dawn was facing off with a smirking Buffy, about halfway through the 'surely something within you must still love us' speech. 'Cause it had always worked _so_ well on every other possession they had experienced.

And Buffy started laughing. And it was Buffy's laugh, right down to the occasional half~cackle.

She smiled winningly. "Dawn, shut up. I'm fine. I'm ....better than fine. Do you have any _idea_ how good this feels?" She stretched, seemingly unconcerned about anything, least of all the teary~eyed girl in front of her. "I hope it never stops."

"Buffy! You're not Buffy..." Dawn shook her head, desperate for some real proof that this wasn't really her sister. That she wasn't really saying what she was saying. But she was just too much like her...

Buffy reached Dawn in three long strides and backhanded her across the face. With a squeak, Dawn tumbled to the ground. The witches rushed forward.

Buffy smirked again. That slightly~out~of~character~though~not~entirely~wrong~looking smirk. "Always were a little brat. Should have done that a lot sooner."

Marion came up, eyes flickering with electricity. Her hand jutted out, like she was clutching a rope leading from Buffy's neck.

"Vivacen Leo! Vivacen Leona! Vivacen Leonora!"

The woman shuddered, and her entire body slumped. All but her arm, which stayed rigid and outstretched.

A few yards away, Buffy grunted, and her body seemed to lean into an invisible pull. 

Marion managed a few choked~off, gasping breaths, and then wrenched her hand away from thin air.

Buffy staggered, but stayed standing. Marion slumped to the ground beside a crying Dawn.

Willow narrowed her eyes. "Buffy?"

Buffy didn't answer. She rushed forward, at Dawn. 

Her little sister squealed a panicked, "Get away from me!" crabbing backwards until she was up against a shopfront.

Buffy looked like she'd been slapped. "God, Dawn. I'm so sorry. It wasn't me. You're not a brat [much]. There's something, I don't know-- I feel so--" She started to fade, wavering on her feet.

Willow realized what Marion had done, and stretched her hand out the same way. "Vivacen! Vivacen! Vivacen! Vivacen!" She felt her own strength drain into Buffy. The real, human Buffy, fighting the demon in her head. The one too weakened to fight properly grew stronger, and the demon was pushed back under.

She swallowed. Looked at her friends, the weary witches helping Dawn to her feet. There was a red handprint forming on Dawn's cheek.

She swallowed again. Air. 

"Uh guys? Can I get some food?"

@ @ @

Seven Powerbars and a stiff drink later...

"Can you still feel it?"

"Yeah. It's definitely there. It's trying to get control, but I think I'll be able to fight it. For now," she added quietly.

Spike watched her squirm, out of the corner of his eye. How ironic. The Slayer fighting her demon down, just like him...

"Do you think you'll be okay to go to the wedding next Saturday? Or will you turn into BitchBuffy and insult my guests? 'Cause if you are, then we need to find another bridesmaid your size." Anya looked thoughtful. She turned to Xander.

"Or take out one of the groomsmen. Can we get rid of that Jeff guy? Please?"

"Ahn, we can't disinvite him from the wedding party unless he makes a move on you, which I realize is a terrible idea to give you and don't dare try anything."

Anya snorted. "As if I really would. I'm just trying to plan ahead."

"Yes, well, it would be easier to plan if we actually *knew* anything about the demon summoned. Type, species, ...color! Anything at all." Giles cast an annoyed glare Willow and Marion, and another at Dawn, sitting across from them.

The Scoobies were all packed into a booth at Rupert's, filling each other in on the details and watching Buffy carefully. Giles had already destroyed the charm, just in case, but that hadn't had any apparent effect.

He took off his glasses and rubbed them on his apron. "But we don't. And until we do, there really isn't anything we can do to stop it." He looked at Buffy. For all practical purposes, his daughter. "It will get stronger. And unless you find some way to better fight it, it will take you over again. It's just a matter of time."

@ @ @

Finally. The bad guy has shone up. Hope everyone liked it. If you read this story, and didn't hate it, please review. ThanX.

~Star Mouse 


	15. Shopping all 'round, and Buffy all alone

**Chapter Fifteen: Shopping all 'round, and Buffy all alone.**

I will concede to popular demand, and stop whining and guilt~tripping the dear dear readers into reviewing. (And it was working, too. *Sniff*) So, I'll just do the usuall, tired, over~used "Rthing from now on. Hmph. If you like this story, or my other story, "Of Blondes that Bite and Stab," you'll probably like "Shades of Grey," "In a Different Light," and "True Colors" by Dee Bradfield (under my favorite authors). Two aren't finished, so why don't you reveiw _them_ for me, so they'll get that way.

Enjoy yon fic. She's un doooozie.

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

When Birdie came home from the longest workout of her life, it was fairly obvious that she had missed something. The Scoobie gang as she knew it was sitting in Buffy's living room, each holding a Powerbar, watching the blonde Slayer like she was going to explode at any second. 

When Birdie walked in, Buffy looked relieved as hell. "Birdie! Thank God! -I mean, 'oh look, guys. The other Slayer's back. You can go home now.'"

Birdie stopped. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I worry you? I left a message--"

"Oh it's not you, Bird," Xander waved. "Not that we aren't concerned for you and everything. It's just Buffy's having a little problem, and we wanted to stick around until there was someone nearby to knock her unconscious before she makes Dawn cry again."

"Hey!" Dawn called out.

"Well, you did."

Birdie shot Buffy a confused look. Buffy just smiled apologetically and chewed her Powerbar. Birdie looked at Spike, the next sanest person in the room. He rolled his eyes.

"Witches and Lil' Bit tried a protective spell for Buffy that went wrong and summoned a demon to possess her. So far, she can contain it if she keeps her strength up, but it's just a matter of time until the demon gets too powerful for her to deal with."

The room went quiet. Spike had just managed to explain a Scoobie Sitch in two sentences, without once resorting to odd, hard~to~interpret colloquiums, getting off track, or being interrupted.

Birdie blinked. "Oh." She had actually understood that. 

"How come Evil Dead doesn't do _all _our explanations?" Xander complained. Or complemented. It was hard to tell.

Birdie [like everyone else] ignored him, and she went over to put a hand to Buffy's forehead.

"And you guys want me to be here for damage control?" she asked.

"'S about the size of it, pet," Spike replied, pushing himself off the wall he'd been leaning against. "Nothing nasty happened on my shift, and it doesn't look like I'm needed any more, so I'll just clear out." He headed for the door.

"Spike."

He turned. He could see the pleading in Buffy's eyes. This was as close as she'd ever get to begging him to stay. It would be easy to stay.

He sent her a cocky salute and glided out the door.

Everyone assembled opted not to comment on the heartbreak visible on the Slayer's face.

@ @ @

The next morning...

Buffy emerged from her room in full training mode, sweats, sneakers, the works. Training was increasingly becoming her escape time, and right now she really had something she needed to escape from.   
Say, a demon possession? She made sure she had her Training Mix in hand, and skipped down the stairs.

She was met at the bottom by Giles.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"Training. The stinky/sweaty will make the bad~ness go away."

"Absolutely not. You will cease your training schedule until we can work this ...situation out."

Buffy pouted. "Giles! I'm supposed to be stronger! How am I supposed to get strong if I can't train?"

"It has already become apparent that the demon is powerful enough to usurp your mental control if your are sufficiently weakened. You must not do anything that might exhaust you to the point of such a loss of control."

Buffy's semi~cheerful mood vanished. "You've got to be kidding me! What am I supposed to do in the meantime?

"Rest. Eat. And we _will_ be talking about that, by the way, once this crisis is settled. Also, you could assist in the research. We are trying to ascertain, through study of the spell Willow and Marion used, exactly what sort of demon they conjured."

"Great. I get possessed _and_ I get to be research girl."

"The joys of life on the hellmouth," Giles agreed blandly, the walked off into the kitchen, secure in the knowledge that no matter what hells she may put herself through, his Slayer would never endanger her family.

@ @ @

Marion Krumpht was studiously transcribing some of her personal journals into the Watcher diaries when the knock sounded on the door. 

"It's open!" she called. A vampire couldn't take that as an invitation, but a human could. It was a very careful greeting, all told.

"Hey," Birdie said behind her.

Marion turned, whipping off her tortoise~shell glasses.

"Oh, hello! Is there something I can help you with?" The two hadn't really done much bonding yet, so Marion assumed there was probably a hellmouth~related difficulty bringing the Slayer to her door.

Birdie shrugged. "I finally got my funds transferred. You know how it is; get back~pay for the last twelve years, gotta spend it quick."

_Twelve years?_ "Ah, right. You don't need my permission, of course. Take the evening," she said.

Birdie smiled, and it was easier not to notice the scars than the first few times. "Thanks. But I was kinda hoping you'd go with me. A totally demon~free bonding moment."

So she had noticed the lack of rapport as well. This would make things easier. A Slayer and Watcher should understand one another. It would be much less of a trial to nurture such a working relationship with both parties aware and willing to work towards it.

"'D love to accompany you."

@ @ @

Anya slowly turned in front of the mirror.

It was perfect. Like a star is perfect. Well, except for the huge part, and the plasma part, and the ball of gas part. Not really like a star. Like ... A wedding dress. That kind of perfect.

She made another circle. She couldn't resist. It was just too beautiful. It made her feel beautiful. And it wasn't even the dress she had planned on getting. It was one from a rack in the back of the store. It wasn't from any designer she'd heard of --and she'd learned a _lot_ the last few weeks about wedding fashions-- and it was a fraction of the cost of the dress she'd had her heart set on.

But now her heart was changed. She needed this dress like she needed to breathe. She needed the rough white silk and the flared skirt and the three off~the~shoulder straps and the short matching veil and she really needed roses, because they would look beautiful with this dress. And she needed to find different bridesmaids' outfits, so they would sort of match, and she needed new shoes of a slightly different shade, and she needed them all in four days..

Xander would love it.

@ @ @

"What do you think?" Birdie held the faded denim garment up for inspection. Marion eyed it curiously.

"What _is_ that?"

Birdie shook it out, "Jeans. Loose, stylish, Slayer friendly. See? There's even a little rip right here, for better flexibility."

"Uh huh. Intriguing. I like 'is one, myself." Marion held up a black and silver threaded kilt, liberally sprinkled with safety pins.

"Awesome. Try it on."

"I think I will."

"It'd go great with those glasses."

"...Mm."

They both took their piles to dressing rooms, which happened to be adjacent.

Through the sound of zippers and flitting fabric, Birdie asked, "So, do you just wear them for reading?"

"Yeah," Marion answered. "They make me look like a [insert British phrase here]."

Birdy smiled. "Do your realize that your accent has changed since we've been here?" Her Watcher sounded more like Spike than Giles now.

There was a slightly~embarrassed silence from the other stall.

"Ah, no. I hadn't. I guess I'm just more comfortable now."

"Yeah, the mall will do that to you," Birdie replied. She slipped the cranberry~red tank over her head and posed for the mirror.

On the other side of the wall, Marion fluffed her rid~lighted bob and modelled the navy green spaghetti strap and kilt. The choice had _nothing_ to do with the fact that Willow had mentioned something about liking green.

"Uh," she started very carefully, "I, ah, can't really place your accent, Birdie. Where are you from?" It was amazing they hadn't had this conversation sooner, but, hey.

"I'm not really sure," Birdie replied. She replaced the jeans with a pair of tartan bloomers, and patted the puffy fabric at her knees. "The accent, I kind of picked up from the ...people I was around." She did a few squats, to check the stretch.

Marion waited, but that appeared to be the extent of the information Birdie planned to give voluntarily.

"Oh?" she prompted.

"Sorry. More?"

"If you don't mind. I'd really like to know more about you, Ms. McGregor. You're a fascinating person, and I want to hear how you got that way." Good. Didn't sound too suspicious or pushy.

"Hey, call me Birdie. Okay, you want story? Okay. Um, I was snatched from my cradle, brought up to age seven by people who scarred me, apparently for fun, until I was rescued by a clan of kung~fu monks who took me under their wing and taught me everything useful that I know." 

Slight pause. 

"About five years ago, I was recaptured by the same sickos as the first time, and held for another year until I was found and saved again, by the same monks. Later, we found out that the bad guys thought I was some super~human. All the torture I endured for eight cumulative years was 'tests'." Air quotes. "For the last four years I've been playing Darth Maul, weird face and all."

Marion could barely speak. The story was told with such offhand nonchalance, such apparent lack of feeling, that it made her want to cry.

"But, why--?"

"_Supposedly_, I was the daughter of a Slayer. But I dunno. They could have gotten that wrong, too. I learned a lot about Slayer lore, working for the monks, and as far as I know, not one has lived long enough to give birth. But it doesn't matter, does it?"

The 'case~closed' tone to her voice seemed to indicate a good time for a topic~shift, so Marion hurriedly said, "Right, right. So, Ah, did you like the clothes?"

"Yeah. Except for that one you gave me."

"The--"

"--leopard~print kilt. Yeah."

@ @ @

Giles sat in a booth at Rupert's, skimming a rather large, leather~bound text. Every now and then, he would compare it to the spellbook Dawn, Willow, and Marion had used.

He cross ~ checked a section, then flipped ahead.

His hand paused above the page. He looked up at nothing, thinking. His hand fell, and he turned back several pages, to something he had half~read twenty minutes ago, all the while muttering, "oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear..."

He found the page, scanned to the relevant section, and compared it to the spell. He slumped down against the wood back of the booth.

"Well, that's it. I knew it'd be something like that. So typical." He looked down at the book for a bit longer, then firmly shut it, and stood.

"Not that it will help us, of course. Not if I have any say."

@ @ @

Buffy sat alone in her room, trying to write in her diary. She had about seven full ones in a box in her closet, under another box under a pile of clothes behind the hanging skirts and jackets. They were an interesting, if painful, read, really.

But the self~confession thing wasn't really working right now. She'd only gotten as far as 'Today I can't move, because the demon inside me might get out...'

And she could feel it. Not like an animal running around inside her, or something. More like a ...stomach ache in her throat. And a pressure behind her eyes. And a terrible intensity added to all the lights in the hall. And a tingle in her fingers, like they were nearly asleep. She basically felt like something was trying to wear her down from the inside. Which was actually quite true.

A year ago, she was thrilled to feel anything. Even pain. But now she would just as gladly go back into that dark place the demon had sent her last night. 

*That was what she wouldn't write in her diary: her willingness --- _need_--- to give in.* 

She hadn't felt _anything_ when the demon was in control. She had been sore as hell after, and she still was. But then, right then, it was like the demon had taken the pain along with everything else.

Her pen stopped its idle tapping.

@ @ @

  
"*Eh~hmm.* 'R and R'."

~Star Mouse 


	16. So they finally got it over with

**Chapter Sixteen: So, they finally got it over with.**

Okay. 

I really wanted to put the Buffybot in this story, but after the little "Juice Bar" scene, I realized that I haven't actually seen an episode with the Buffybot, except for that one where she's torn apart by motorcycles. And when you think about it, that's not really a great basis for characterization. So she's in limbo right now. Just pretend ...something. The juice bar's underground, and no one knows where she is.

Also, to Rainyday88 and any other readers concerned that Dawn may get called as a Slayer: Not in _my_ little world. Whatever the Honourable Mr. Whedon does with season seven, I still maintain that Dawn is a total brat that really should be sent to boarding school far away from Sunnydale. (Though I'm trying to push her toward teammemberdom) The fourth Slayer is probably going to hail from some Eastern Hemispheric place. 

...I've said too much.

~Star Mouse

  
  
@ @ @

"Blood?"

"Unfortunately."

"Ugh! Was it awful?"

"At first. Now, not so much."

They sat in the foodcourt, conversing over plates of rice, surrounded by bulging plastic bags. 

Marion sat back and shook her head, in disgust or disbelief, it was unclear. Either way, Birdie gestured with her fork at herself, her face.

"Did you really think I was a total innocent with all-- this?"

Marion flinched slightly. It was kind of an unspoken agreement not to discuss Birdie's slightly grotesque scars. "No, I just--. It's sad."

"Yeah, well. It's probably for the best. I'd rather be the person I am than --naive. Credulous. Weak." She spoke into her rice.

There it was again. That heartbreaking monotone. Marion leaned forward, laying a hand across Birdie's own.

"There are other ways to lose credulity," she said quietly. "Other ways to become strong."

Birdie looked up into her Watcher's eyes. "Marion, how is innocence lost?"

Marion's brows dipped a moment. "...I--"

"Experience. It's always experience that destroys innocence. My innocence had to die. I would never be able to do the things I do if I was still so sheltered."

"And the blood?"

Birdie snorted, breaking the intense mood, and stabbed at her hill of rice.

"That's one innocence I'd rather not have lost."

@ @ @

Buffy was researching. It didn't come easily to her. It was too much like studying.

But now she was on a mission.

If her friends were doing the 'for your own good...' bit again....

She flipped purposefully through the pages.

Until she realized she didn't have a clue what the text said. She wasn't even sure about the language, except that it wasn't French.

She shut the book in a frustrated slam. She coughed in the subsequent dust cloud, and there was a heart~wrenching moment when the demon in her leaped at that instant of weakness in the cough.

She scrambled for the Powerbar in her pocket. Had to stay on top of it, until she was sure...

There was a knock at the door. It sounded like the knocker was either really scared or really excited. Birdie and Marion at the mall, Dawn "studying at Janice's", Willow doing her own research back at the suped~up computer at her place, Giles at Rupert's. Spike...

She tried not to run to the door, but ended up in a kind of 'sixteen~year~old~girl' hop~skip. She managed to calm down before she swung the door open, greeting the doorstep with her usual semi~apathetic demeanor.

"Buffy! You have to see this. They're beautiful. Mine's better, but yours are still gorgeous. I had to change the florist order, but it was worth it. Come on, I have yours and Dawn's, and you really need to try them on right now, so I know what to take back to get fitted--"

Buffy moved aside, slightly stunned by Anya's running monologue. She had gotten an impression of garment bags...

"Anya, did you change your mind about the dresses?"

"Yes! I had to. That other one's crap. I hate it. This one, oh!, Well, you just have to see it." 

The soon-to-be-married blonde flung two of the garment bags onto the couch, and pulled down the zipper of the other, exposing ivory-silk.

As the dress emerged, Buffy's breath caught despite herself. "Oh, Anya..."

"Mm!" Anya did a happy little wiggle, and held the dress aloft.

Buffy, completely distracted, reached out and fingered the coarse, but somehow incredibly soft skirt.

"Anya-- It's beautiful."

"Mm!" Anya let herself just stare at her pretty dress for a split second, then turned to Buffy. "Come on. We've got to try yours on."

@ @ @

Spike sat in front of the television in his crypt. But he wouldn't be able to tell you what was on.

He was too busy kicking himself for being such an utter, despicable ponce.

The Slayer would be the death of him yet. That_ was_ the idea, after all. But it was torture to be around her. The way she moved, the way she spoke, the way that the way she thought was reflected in everything she did. She was a constant reminder of how *sick* he was.

That Slayer, the one whose soul he so admired, was the same woman that had used him for months. The same one that had driven him to Africa, for the love of ...blood!

As his thoughts grew more violent, he stood, pivoting away from the set, and started pacing, muttering British epithets under his breath.

He was working up a really good string of obscenities, when--

"Should I be taking notes, or are you making these up as you go along?"

He turned. "Bit. Thought you'd be at that Jenny's place."

"Janice," Dawn corrected, wandering further into the room. "The sleep~over thing got canceled. I sort of forgot to mention that to Buffy."

"Slayer still doesn't want you hanging 'round here?"

Dawn cracked a half~smile that wrenched at his heart. _When had his bit gotten so world~weary?_

"Na. She'd want to tag along. And I wanted you alone for a while."

Spike relaxed. The worrying, cynical, _adult_ look was gone, and bit was back to the happy face. He gestured at the television.

"There's probably something amusing on the telly, if you like," He cast around for further entertainment. "Or we could have a go at the games on the cell phones."

"Oo! Yay!"

@ @ @

The room was dark, except for a blue~tone light flickering from one corner. Perspective drifts, until we see Willow in front of her computer, staring intently at the screen. The light illuminates her face from the bottom, casting harsh shadows. Every now and then she squint~blinks to clear the blear from her eyes. There are several empty Coke cans beside her, unsqunched.

She straightened a bit, and spoke aloud, just to alleviate some of the silence. 

"Ah! Here we are, Mr. Computer. Good work. Let's see, now. According to this, which should be accurate, we summoned one of these...."

She scrolled down and read the script. 

"And we can kill it by--. Oh; shit." She read down. "Yeah, shit. Definitely. Why does this always happen?"

She looked back at the computer. This kind of behavior was absurd. How much pain could the universe ask one woman to take? 

She closed the laptop with a determined click.

Well, this was one pain that she could protect Buffy from. No one had to know. She'd find another way.

@ @ @

For the sake of convenience, let's just skip a few days...

@ @ @

"Now, what are you _not _going to do?

Xander fidgeted and looked at the ceiling. 

"Flee."

Willow finished tying his bowtie, realized it was crooked, and started again. "Good. And what are you going to say?"

Xander sighed. "Uh, 'Anya, I love you, I always will, and ..." _aw, crap_ "...and... This really doesn't change anything about my commitment to you, but now we get to pay more taxes and not get nasty looks from our grandmotherly apartment manager." 

He strained to see his own neck, and Willow's hands at it.

"That wasn't actually that bad. Maybe I should just say that."

Willow shrugged. "Yeah, Anya would probably think it was sweet. It's actually a lot like hers was going to be the first time, if you'd stuck around to hear it."

  
"Oh, goodie."

Willow tugged the tie ends again, and leaned back to examine her handiwork. Better.

She looked up at her best friend, her former crush, her forever brother. He looked so nervous in his tux, like he was standing on the brink of manhood. But it was the good kind of nervous. Not the 'fight or flight' kind he'd had last time. The 'gonna run any minute now' panic that had led to a room of confused guests. This was 'gee, I can't wait to see what's for dessert!' nervous. He was ready.

She smiled at him, and her vision got bleary when her eyes squinted.

"I love you, you know."

He smiled back, fully aware of what this day really meant. The end of an era. The official overriding of the ultimity of best~friendship. After this, there would always be someone he was _supposed_ to love more. 

Because wife is so much more final than girlfriend.

"Yeah, Will. I love you too." 

He held his arms wide, and she stepped into the hug.

"Xander?"

"Yeah?"

"I really am happy for you, you know."

"Yeah. I'm happy for me, too."

@ @ @

"So, what are you going to say?"

Anya fluffed her hair. "Same as last time. Except this time for real. And the ceremony will be a little different, of course, with D'Hoffryn proceeding."

Buffy stopped smoothing Anya's dress and looked up the sheer ivory incline to the demon's face.

"D'Hoffryn? As in _boss_ D'Hoffryn?"

"Mm~Hm." Anya half~turned, trying to see her back in the mirror.

Buffy blinked. "Oh. That's nice." 

Anya nodded like a five~year~old. "Yes, it is. And it was Xander's idea."

Buffy smiled. _Meeting in the middle. That's what they'd always missed. Looked like Xander was finally bridging the culture gap._

"Anya, you guys are going to be _so_ happy."

Anya picked at the little beads sewn into the bodice.

"I know."

@ @ @

There was a knock at the open door. Willow turned.

"'Ey, Red. Mind scootin', for a bit? Got a few things to tell the Whelp."

"Oh, it's okay, I can just sta-"

"'S guy talk, Red. Shoo."

Willow looked back and forth between Xander and Spike.

"Oh! Um..."

Xander waved a hand, never taking his eyes off Spike. 

"It's okay, Will. Why don't you go check on Anya?"

Willow took the hint and left, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Spike watched Xander's slightly nervous movements.

"You alright there, Whelp?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. I really am." Xander ran a hand through his hair. "Last time? Not so good. But now I'm definitely seeing 'forever' as a ponderable thing."

Spike nodded slowly. "Yeah. Forever." He ran a hand through his own hair, unconsciously imitating Xander's gesture.

"Demon's a good girl, you know. She doesn't deserve to be hurt again."

Xander stilled.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I know. I never meant to hurt her. It just sort of happened. And I don't plan on that kind of beating with an idiot stick any time soon." He smiled much smaller than he would have any other day.

"Any time in forever."

Spike nodded again. "Good. It's ...good. That you two resolved your issues."

Xander shrugged. "What can I say? Money~loving, bunny~fearing demon/construction worker. It was meant to be." He made a quick 'joke face,' but quickly switched to the less frequently seen 'now, seriously folks...' face.

"Spike, everything about this is perfect. Anya's perfect. All the stuff I pretend bugs me? Well, it bugs me, but I'm so glad it's there to bug me that I can barely think straight.

She's everything I didn't even know I liked until I got to like her. She's everything that I can't live without, now. It's like I'm addicted, and I'm about to be hooked up to a constant feed. I want this so bad. I want all of this-- the forgetting anniversaries, the getting old and pruney, the sitting in armchairs side by side and yelling back and forth, not totally hearing what the other one's saying. 

I want to marry Anya and spend the rest of our lives getting to know her better. I want to spend the rest of my life worrying about her. I want to spend the rest of my life not hurting her."

Spike looked at the young man before him.

In 200 years, he'd seen a lot of youthful idealism die and rot. Newlyweds had always disgusted him. It was the way they never really believed that _this_ would ever end for them. Had never believed that there were powers in the world that truly didn't care about their lives together. About their bright, wonderful futures.

He shuddered to think about how many of those futures he'd cut short.

But this was different. This was youth, and this was idealistic, but it was also tempered by a firm belief in the nasties in the world, in life. 

It was hope smeared on determination.

These two had seen more than their share of death, of pain, of loss. And they knew how easily it could lash out at them. And they were risking everything anyway.

Just like true Scoobies.

Off Xander's slightly puzzled look, Spike shook himself, and managed a smile.

"That's good form, mate. Good form. You two-- well, I can't say you'll be fine, but if anyone can make it through life alive, it's you. Good luck, Xander."

Spike left before his image was tarnished forever.

@ @ @

Dawn's head beat along with the wedding march. Kind of a catchy tune, really. Dummdumdadum..

But there was something weird about it. She surrepiticiously checked the organ. Oh. It was probably the tentacly thing playing it. That would explain the extra notes.

Today was an 'alternate identity free' day, and the demon population was represented in full. Noticeably absent were troublesome, drunken, dysfunctional Harris relatives and friends from work. This was a day when the Scoobies could let their hair down about the real world.

Dawn stood at the end of the line of Marion, Birdie, Buffy, and Halfrek. Willow was lined up with Xander's guy friends, including Spike, Giles, and Clem. He'd had a little trouble thinking of close buddies to call on tux duty. Hence vampire and demon. Giles probably would have been in there anyway.

D'Hoffryn's service was ...different. A lot about smiting, in the event of future unfaithfulness or murder, and a lot of raving in latin. The members of the congregation versed in the language all seemed near tears, including... Her eyes narrowed... Spike. Yeah. Definitely moisture there.

She didn't even have to look over to know Buffy was crying rivers. She always did.

And then it was over. Anya was kissing Xander like there wasn't an audience of over one~hundred, and he was trying to pretend he cared that there was. And everyone was cheering and clicking and stomping and honking and making weird noises with their noses.

It was an utter freak show, worthy of any Scoobie event. The kind of thing that made the Osbournes look normal.

And she just couldn't stop smiling.

@ @ @

Hope you liked it. Far from over. Big stuff~ness going down next chapter. It's that stupid 'real~life' thing getting in the way again. I'll try to update soon, though. In all my free time, which, with band, extra classes, oh yeah, regular classes, competitions, and all my other junk, amounts to... Car rides, Sunday afternoons, and Wednesday between 4 and 6.

Don't give up on me yet! I'm also working on plottiness for my other serial, "Of Blondes that Bite and Stab." I should update that soon, too.

Thanks for reading.

~Star Mouse 


	17. Pent up agression and Questions

**Chapter Seventeen: Pent up agression and Questions.**

Oh, look: chapter! Yay! I really have things I should be doing instead, and yet I still find myself typing this story which really serves no purpose. What's wrong with me? Oh well. I hope you enjoy the results. And if you like the Teletubbies, I ...don't apologize, actually. You shouldn't like the Teletubbies. They're evil in its purist form. Burn the dolls.

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

Buffy sighed. A week since the wedding, and she still had that stupid march stuck in her head.

_Bummmbum buh bum... Bum _buh_ buh buhmm...._ Arghh!

She flopped back into the couch, holding a Powerbar, like always. There was a slight shudder in her fingers. It was like a tic, now. She couldn't control the demon totally. But she hadn't told anyone, yet, about the slipping control. She wanted to hold out until she found it...

She knew it had to be somewhere. She knew it without reading it, but she had to have confirmation. Giles had been amazed, and slightly concerned, about the rabid energy with which Buffy had dived into the role of Research Girl.

The shaking hand suddenly clenched. Buffy watched in shock as the Powerbar oozed between her fingers, out the sides of the wrapper.

And it kept on clenching, past the point where it starts to really _hurt._ The Slayer gasped in pain as her own nails dug into her palm. Her conciousness clouded, and she could feel the demon rise up through the pain, taking that shuddering instant to take control.

And in the brief moment it maintained dominance, all was white, and all was painless.

Then the will of the Slayer surged forward, beating back the demon in her head, like she would a demon in a graveyard.

Buffy fell back into the couch again, gasping. She could still feel the demon's feelings. 

It felt pain.

She looked down at the crescent~shaped dents in her palm. No blood had been drawn, but it still ached like a mother.

That had very nearly been the end. 

She had lost.

The demons that had become the bane of her 'normal life' were invading the very depths of her mind. It wasn't enough to forstall any chance of her having a social life, or a life at all. They had to take _her_ away.

She'd never _really_ lost to a demon. Sure, she'd end up pinned, and helpless, and moments from death, but eventually their plots were blown apart and good triumphed. But she couldn't fight as well from the inside.

That was where she was weak. That was the core within the core of adamantium. The squishy core of a crybaby at heart. Attack there, and she couldn't win. Couldn't fight.

The demon was getting too _strong_. The next time it gained the upper hand, it could very well end up keeping it. She couldn't fight it.

So she'd have to stop fighting.

_Screw the books._ Buffy hopped off the couch, grabbed a light jacket, and left, quietly.

@ @ @

Birdie stood behind the counter at the Magic Box, reading up on Spike. Just out of curiosity.

There was a light~hearted chime from the top of the door in the front as it opened to the night. As she had been given strict instructions by Anya beforehand, the Slayer looked up with a smile, and recited the practiced lines:

"Hello, welcome to the Magic Box! My name's Birdie, don't mind the scars, can I assist you in a purchase?"

"Uh, no, that's okay. I'm just looking, thanks," replied Willow.

Birdie dropped the wattage on the smile down to a more natural level.

"Hey, Willow."

Willow nodded back and wandered over.

"So. Doing some researchy things?" she squinted at the page, then raised her eyebrow, "about Spike?"

Birdie shut the book, blushing slightly. "Just curious. Serious. I'm trying to figure out how to best approach the 'him/Buffy' thing."

"_What_ him/Buffy thing? As far as I know, they're totally through."

"Oh." The Slayer wrinkled he brow a moment. She shrugged. "Oh well."

Willow lowered an eyebrow, gesturing at the book, seeking to include in the gesture all things Blonde.

"I really think that's one convoluted relationship you should just say no to. Cupid probably got his little head snapped off a while ago."

Birdie considered the analogy. "O-kay....." *Smile flashes like a camera bulb* "I'll just meddle in yours instead!"

Willow backed away a step. "M-mine? I don't have a relationship!"

Birdie cocked an eyebrow. "You don't. My Watcher? Way hot in a kilt if you're into that kind of thing... Ringing bells yet?"

Willow ducked her head. "Oh. Right. That."

"Yeah. That."

"Well, the thing is..."

Birdie did that slight shake of the head as it sort of shrugs forward thing that Faith used to do. "What?"

Willow cringed. "I'm not sure she's gay."

Birdie blinked. "Oh. That's sort of a problem, isn't it? But she was totally checking you out that first day! She has to be!"

"Well," Willow twisted her fingers. "I can't really tell. I mean, for all I know, she could just want platonic friendship, or- or have a crush on Xander or something. And I don't want to just ask her..."

"'Are you gay?'"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I know that."

There was silence.

"What?" both women asked at the same time.

Birdie started over. "Well, maybe you should. Just, you know, bring it into the conversation gradually. Like, 'Hey, Barney is such a fruit, by the way, are you gay?'"

Willow lowered her eyebrows. "I don't think that's the best option."

"Okay then, how about--"

"Ah! That's okay, thanks. I'll ...figure something out. That doesn't involve derogatory terms or ignorant generalizations. Or references to braindead, colorful creatures."

"Like the Teletubbies!"

"Yeah."

"..."

Willow and Birdie shared a shudder at the thought of Teletubbies.

Willow shook her head, eyes squinted shut. "Br! Eugh. Now I have to watch the comedy channel, or something, to get that image out of my head."

"Sorry."

@ @ @

Buffy reached Spike's crypt late. She had strolled the whole way, afraid to work up a sweat.

Ha! The Slayer, afraid to work up a sweat. If that wasn't the final defeat...

Oh.

She was here.

She faced down the stone wall. It didn't blink.

She hadn't been by recently. At Spike's request, if you recall. He didn't mind hurting her, that was obvious. And that's why it had to be him.

The others cared too much. The others wouldn't be able to do it right.

With just a hint of her old defiance, Buffy pushed the door open and walked in without knocking.

The interior was dark. Of course. But not even candles were going now. There was a slight flickering light of another sort coming from below, though.

Buffy descended the ladder.

@ @ @

Spike was watching an old black and white movie about a living corpse. 

Quite funny, really.

But he suddenly smelled Slayer.

When Buffy came down the ladder, he watched her. And his eyes followed her warily as she adjusted her clothing and approached.

"Hey."

"Evenin'," he returned. Thoughts of the last visit swarmed in his head.

_Stupid head. Shake it off._

"And to what do I owe this honour?"

"Strictly business."

"For a change."

"Yeah, well, I--. Could you turn that damn thing off?!"

Spike blinked, then glanced at the set, still spewing sound and light. He reached a hand for the remote and muted the movie, without taking his eyes off the Slayer.

"Go on."

Buffy rubbed the back of her neck. How to start...

"I need a favor."

"Do tell?"

@ @ @

There was a knock at Marion's door.

"It's open!" She turned from her research to see Willow enter. She offered a warm smile.

"Hey, you. How're ya? Found any more on the spell we bolluxed up?"

The red~headed witch paused. Oh. There were more important things than love~life going on, weren't there. Possession of best~friend a major deal. Maybe this wasn't the best time. _Then when?_

"I, well, no, I just had a quick question for you."

Marion guessed by the stuttering that this was something serious.

"Go on."

"Uh..." Willow bit her lip, seemed to give in to some inner flight~or~fight voice, and turned her back.

"Areyougay?" she asked the wall.

There was silence from behind. She peeked over her own shoulder, and half~turned back around.

Marion was watching her, partly concealing an amused smile behind her hand.

Willow bit her lip again. "Uh..."

Marion let out a little snort, rolled her eyes, stood, and gave Willow's gnawing lips a gentle kiss.

"Quite," she replied.

@ @ @

"I need you to do something for me," Buffy started again.

The vampire sighed. "Anything." And it was true. He'd still do anything for her. Habit, probably.

She made eye contact. "Kick my ass."

There was a moment of silence. 

Then: "You mean," he gestured with his leg, "literally?"

She removed her jacket, and draped it over a rung of the ladder. "I mean beat me up."

He shook his head. "Is this some sort of test? Are you testing me now?"

"No test. I need a good beating. It's the only way to hurt the demons setting up camp inside me. I'd do it myself, but. . ."

"Bit difficult."

"I'm losing control. I can feel it. It's getting harder. If I was able to weaken myself, I'm not sure my personality would stay dominant. If I started the job, I'd probably lose control before I finished it. I need someone who can take me down in full out freak~mode."

Spike bit his lip. "I can't say the prospect of giving you a good beating really rankles...."

"I knew you cared. Come on. I'm worried. I totally lost control earlier. It was just too strong. I have to get this body weak before I can do any real damage." She walked over to stand in front of him, and braced herself. "Let's aim for hospitalization."

"Are you sure there's not another way, luv?"

"No. Giles can't get a handle on them. Willow can't exorcise them. Birdie can't kill them. I obviously can't control them. If you want to help, if you want to be part of our little family, you're going to have to put me out of commision."

She bored into his eyes with her own. "For Dawn. This creature made her cry. Don't let it happen again. And I have a feeling if this thing got my body again, it wouldn't stop at just taunts, or locals."

Spike watched her for a moment. She wasn't trying to impress him. She was just offering up her pain to save the world. Again. She looked so totally...determined. No hesitation. No fear, not really. And she was coming to him. Because it had to be him. He was the only one around who could fight her, could hurt her. She was swallowing a bitter pill, turning to him, and it didn't deter her. This was the Slayer.

He lashed out, sending a fist to her gut before she could blink. 

It was the least he could do.

Buffy doubled over coughing. Spike pulled off his duster, throwing it across a chair. "How'sat, pet?"

Buffy's head snapped up. "Just fine," she hissed. Spike turned at the voice. That wasn't Buffy's voice. 

And it wasn't Buffy's face. Not with that sneer, so much like his own.

"Ah," he said. "And who might you be?"

The features shuddered, and for a moment he saw the Slayer.

"I--thanks--" she managed, before the demon took control again. 

@ @ @

Hope you liked. Tell me what you think. Please?

I know, technically, Buffy could have probably left Spike out of that whole thing entirely, and gotten Giles to drug her. But when has anyone in BtVS _ever_ taken the easiest road? Besides, she likes subjecting herself to the most pain possible, so it makes sense that she would seek out the most potent, hot, British, blonde source available.

~Star Mouse 


	18. My very first blow by blow fight scene

**Chapter Eighteen: My very first blow-by-blow fight scene.**

This is a chap-ter You _read_ it. Then you know what you have to do. Yeah. You got it. Review. That strange word again.

Like the way I put words in your head? But you _knew_ what I was getting at, so most likely you really were thinking about reviews. And if you weren't: duh.

Still working on "Of Blondes that Bite and Stab," but the stupid school system is totally not budging on the 'three~day weeks' concept. Hey, I tried. Grades come first. Sorry. Except Chemistry.

~Star Mouse

  
@ @ @

"Ahn?"

"Over here! Xander, you've got to see this!"

The founding Scoobie pushed his way through the crowds of Spanish-spouting locals, to where Anya's blonde hair stuck out like... ...neon in a void.

She was leaning on the guardrail, much less encumbered by souvenirs than he, because she handed everything she bought to him. She shot him a warm smile before turning her undivided attention back to the candle-lit arena. The street passed above, in a bridge that they were standing on, looking down at the opera.

Music like that of tortured weasels wafted up on the breeze.

"Oh, Xander, isn't it beautiful?"

He narrowed his eyes at the gaudy scene. Sad to say, he'd never seen that much red and gold outside a ritual bloodbath. 

"Uh, yeah." _Why didn't we go to Hawaii, again?_

But everything was perfect, because Anya was here, and having a great time, and not wearing her 'special' necklace, and they were married, and happily ever after was sure to be just around the corner, and-- "Hey, watch where you're going!"

A few people that had pushed past him glared at him and muttered in Spanish. They moved on.

"Yeah, yeah, yo quiero Taco Bell, my ass..." He waved a hand and tried to turn back to the show. Anya's brow wrinkled.

"Xander, wait."

Xander raised an eyebrow, looked back in the crowd for the bumpers, turned back to his bride.

"Why? 'D they say something I need to beat them up for?"

She shrugged her head. "I guess. Roughly, 'Your blood isn't thick enough to suck. And ...other stuff.'" She narrowed her eyes.

Xander thought about beating his head against the stone waist~high guard wall. But he'd have to get on his knees. He sighed.

"You can take the Scoobies out of the Hellmouth--"

"I'm sure that's a very funny joke you're setting up, Xander," his new bride cut him off, "but we have to go find them and ask them questions."

Anya walked purposefully past him. Xander blinked for a second, then struggled after her, carting sombreros and other novelty items.

"Ahn! What's to question? Vampires. So?"

"So, the other one said something about catching a boat to California."

"Okay, so travelling vamps. Not so fun, but--"

"He said 'We'd better catch that boat before all the others get the good seats.'"

"You mean like for the opera back there--?"

"Xander! This is no time for opera!"

@ @ @

Spike watched the tiny blonde Slayer rise. She took her bloody time about it, too. Stretched her back out, rolled her neck, all the while gently smirking. He stood a ways away, waiting to see what this creature in Buffy's body would do.

Not-Buffy looked at him, and shrugged in a way eerily like the real Buffy.

"So. Big bad vampire has me trapped. You're going to beat me up?"

"'As the plan, lu-pe-Sla-_you_."

"Hph." She tossed Buffy's hair, and it took all of Spike's experience with demon possession to remember that this wasn't really Elizabeth Anne Summers. 

The way she looked at him. He was so used to that look. Mocking, hard.  
Albeit, not recently, so much. But still...

She sneered. And it was like looking in a mirror. A metaphorical one, for obvious reasons. 

"I would _love_ to see you try. You couldn't even beat me when you were 'invincible'." Air quotes. Damn.

"I fought Buffy. You're new," he replied.

Raised eyebrow. Buffy's raised eyebrow. Double damn.

"You really think I'm any different?" She laughed. And it was Buffy's laugh. "Spike, I'm _free_. That's all. You know better than anyone. You aren't really a _demon_, are you, Spike? You're still William. It's not like you woke up being hell~bent and possessed of the knowledge of ages. You just have an extra conscience. A ...an anti conscience. The one that doesn't mind a little fun."

"Get the hell out of her body," he said, quietly. It was all he could think of.

She just laughed again, and strode closer. "The thing is, Spike, I don't wanna."

She flashed one of those tiny, bright, super~grins Buffy sometimes gave the world as gifts.

"You're gonna have to make me."

And then Spike found out what it feels like to get clubbed in the face with a candlestick.

"Aw, shi--" Another. Damn. She was strong.

He fell back, stumbling down the one step, around a stone sarcophagus.

He could _feel_ his cheekbone bruising. Bloody perfect--. 

She came at him again. He tried to dodge, but she anticipated, catching him a jab under the chin, slamming his jaw shut and making him bite his own tongue.

_Ah, hell, Spike. Fight back. It's not like you haven't bullied with the bitch before. Smashing her face in isn't a new thing._

No. But not wanting to is.

He looked up at -not-the Slayer, stalking towards him.

His eyes narrowed, and his chin went down. He spat blood.

_So's the being asked to._

Spike took several running steps and kicked her in the chest, pulling the candlestick from her grip as he did so. He landed on top of her, straddling her about the stomach.

The hell~bitch thrashed wildly, slashing at his jeans with her fingernails, but she wasn' t doing much damage.

He brought the candlestick --nice, wrought iron-- down on a temple.

"_Shit!" _Buffy shook her head to clear it, and spat at him.

Spike dealt her a backhand across the face.

"You're _not_ her," *slap* "you _will_ pay for taking her," *slap* "and for her I will send you into traction."

Buffy jerked beneath him. She arched her back, trying to throw him off. But it was the slightly loopy smile that really threw him.

"If you want to beat me, vampire, you'll have to kill me."

Spike shoved her head down to the concrete floor with a sickening thud.

He growled.

"So be it."

Buffy's body lay still. He could feel her pulse, but it was weak. He wasn't sure what was normal for a living possession, though. He didn't move from his perch. He waited for her to wake.

And she did. With a sudden, nearly warningless lurch, Buffy bucked him off, hopped to her feet, kicked him in the gut with a pointy boot.

"You sonofabitch."

"Possibly."

She landed a few quick punches, but nothing major. She was hurt.

Good. He sneered.

Not-Buffy furrowed her brows.

"This is how you treat the woman you love?"

He vamped, growled, thrust himself off the wall.

"_I--," _he launched himself at her, quite literally going for the throat. She brushed his hands aside, and he landed a knee to her inner thigh.

"--_Don't--," _grabbed the sharpened bat from the corner, spun with it, landing a blow to her back. The not-Slayer 'ouf!'ed and went down, landing with less grace than a woman with two unfractured collarbones might.

"--_Love her._" for good measure, he sent a few sharp kicks to her middle, eliciting more noises. He swung the bat around on in his hand and brought it down full force on her shins, exposed in her fetal position. 

There were muffled, splintering cracks.

And more, as he swung again.

And again.

And again.

And again. Until the battle red left his vision.

He shook off his demon visage, and tossed the bat away. It clanged on the stone before rolling to a stop.

He considered the broken, bleeding form lying in front of him, limbs twisted at odd angles, with more joints than before.

When the figure blurred, he realized he was crying.

"Bloody--" He wiped the tears away roughly, and reached for his cell phone.

_Where?_ Oh yeah. Spike stepped over the pile of Buffy and to the chair his duster was hanging on. He rooted around in one of the deep pockets, and pulled out the pink phone. He pressed and held 6.

There was an electronic hum as the phone rang over the line, and then--

"Hello?"

"Rupert."

"Spike! Thank goodness. Buffy, she's-- I can't find her. Her phone's here, and I have no idea-- She's dangerous, Spike. We have to find her before she caves--"

"Enough, Watcher. I need you to answer a question for me."

"Spike, this really isn't--"

"I tell you bugger all until you answer me."

A slight pause, and then, "Very well."

"Do you think I would go scourge?"

"...Pardon?"

Spike turned around. "You came to my crypt, couple months ago, to tell me not to go evil if Buffy died. Do you really think I would. Answer."

Giles was silent for so long Spike honestly thought the connection had broken. Finally, the Watcher cum Bar~Tender cleared his throat into the phone.

"No, Spike, I don't. As much as I truly don't trust you, I trust in your connection with Dawn and Buffy. If either of them died, I honestly think you'd stick around to pick up the pieces, rather than blowing everything to bits."

Spike had to smile. Through tears, damn.

"Good. 'Cause, Watcher, I need you to call the hospital. What you're going to see will take a bit of explaining."

@ @ @

"...Multiple fractures, several cases of internal bleeding, not to mention the dislocated shoulder..."

Dawn's lip trembled as the doctor, a black woman with short short hair, listed the damage. She reached her hand out for Spike's.

The vampire gripped it, and pulled her closer with his other arm, grateful she didn't hate him for doing this.

"...amazing recovery, even this early. Blood loss shouldn't be a problem, it's a matter of healing enough that the body can support itself. Until then, we've got her in as many braces as we can, helping out a little."

Willow furrowed her brow. "She'll be okay?"

The doctor winced. "We can only hope. She's catatonic, but she's healing at an amazing rate. Strictly speaking, she could wake up at any time. But..."

Willow nodded, teary and resigned. "--The longer she's in it the less likely it is."

"I'm sorry. We'll just have to do the best we can and ...and pray."

"We will," Willow assured her. She looked at Marion, standing solemn beside her. The witch swallowed, and made a break for the door.

@ @ @

Birdie was in a green chair just outside the office, face in hands, elbows on knees. She hadn't been up to actually entering the office.

But when Willow burst through the door like the hounds of hell were after her, she looked up.

"Willow!"

The witch turned back.

Birdie bit her lip. She couldn't form the question. If she asked, the answer would be her fault.

Willow shook her head, knowing what she couldn't voice.

"Catatonic. Broken everything. I-- God, I need to get out of here."

Birdie stood quickly.

"Take me with you."

@ @ @

"Ahn, we aren't going to find them. It's a _huge_ city. They could be anywhere."

"I'm not looking for them, Xander. I'm looking for boats."

"Boats," he repeated. "Well that shouldn't be too hard, on a port city."

"Shut up. This would be a very specific boat." Anya continued walking, faster in high heels than anyone had a right to be. She craned her long neck to see the piers.

"It'll be passenger. Few windows, probably. And, of course, lots of va--"

She bumped into someone.

Someone who hissed and bared teeth.

"--Vampires."

@ @ @

Giles stared through the reinforced glass at his Slayer. His daughter in more senses of the word than he had known existed. He let his hand trail down the window to his side.

She was in a bed hooked up to all sorts of things that went 'beep.' He wasn't sure if they were good beeps, but guessing not. IV's were plugged into her arms and disappeared into the sheet covering her, making _her_ look like the machine.

That was it. The BuffyBot. This was a robot. It wasn't his Buffy, dying again before his eyes.

"Rupes."

He didn't turn his head. "She told you to do this?"

Spike came up to the glass and let his forehead bump against it.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Soddin' stupid martyr complex."

Giles forced a smile. "Nothing new there."

"Damn straight."

Giles sighed. He wiped a hand down his face, sweeping his glasses off in a sudden jerk. 

"This thing has been harder on her than ..." he started, trying to describe to the vampire what he felt was _really_ happening. "She fights her battles on the outside. All the demons _we_ live with, the hauntings in our minds, are reall for her. Not just real but _corporeal_. She can face with brute strength. She can banish the beasts that plague her by literally distroying them. She needn't reach inside herself for that. She keeps her battles well away from her heart."

Spike listened silently, watching the immoble girl through the glass. Giles rested he eyes on her form as he continued, more quietly. 

"The closest she ever really got to being ambushed from the inside was Angelus. That nearly ripped her apart. She ... She ran. The one time she ran away. She can't defend herself when she's stricken from the inside. She never learned how."

Spike looked up angry. "You think she's running now?"

Giles looked back at the little girl lying in a maze of wires and tubes, going beep.

"I don't know. But if she is, I think perhaps she will be hard to find."

@ @ @ 


	19. Multilingual Shenanigans

**Chapter Nineteen: Multilingual Shenanigans.**

Hello again. I say that in confidence that no one starts reading a fiction at the 19th chapter. Speaking of chapters, "Of Blondes that Bite and Stab," by me has a new one up. Oh goodie. It involves a fun game of "Meet the Scourges." My scourges, anyway. 

On with _this _fic.

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

"Anya?" 

"Xander?"

"We're surrounded, aren't we?"

The blonde bride licked her lips, unusually grave. They were attracting more and more attention, as the only beings with _pulses_ in the area.

"Yeah."

Xander nodded. It made sense. Live your life on the mouth of hell, get killed vacationing in Spain. Perfectly logical.

If you were him.

"I love you, Ahn."

"He aqui! Una cena," a voice called, to their left, "antes de que la viaje."

"¿Quién soís vosotros? ¿De dónde estáis vosotros?" The nearest vamp bared his teeth, and stalked closer, slightly hindered by what appeared to be a decade's worth of luggage strapped to his back.

Anya backed up a step, adjusting her hold on her purse.

"Nosotros somos de Estados Unidos," she replied shakily. "Somos los reciénes casados."

The Spanish vamp's eyebrows rose, somewhat mockingly.

"Ah! ¿Qué hubo?"

Anya smiled a little, despite the situation. "Es divertido, hasta ahí."

Xander's brow furrowed. The vamps were closing in, and she didn't appear to be pleading for their lives.

"Uh, Ahn? What are you doing?"

"Shh. Qué haces con nosotros?"

He smiled. "Matar y comer."

"¿A qué viene eso? A la postre..."

"¡Chitón!"

Anya went silent. Xander blinked. He looked at the vampire.

"Hey, what was that you said? 'Cause I've been trying to do that for about three years--"

*_Foggggghooooooooooorn* *Foggggghoooooorn* "_

"¡El buque esta lancha!"

There was suddenly a mad dash for the gangplank, with Anya grabbing Xander's hand and pulling him in the opposite direction. 'Their' vampire joined the hustle, shouting enthusiastically,

"Vamos a la Boca del Infierno!"

And just like that, the vampires were on the boat, and it was pulling out to sea.

Xander blinked at the speed with which everything had changed from a certain-death-situation to a what-the-hell-just-happened situation.

He turned to his bride, who was digging in her purse.

"What the hell just happened?"

"We need to make a call."

@ @ @

There was a sterile little garden adjoining the hospital, a testimony to the attempt of man to make nature hygienic. Scruffy little trees and brown grass, and tiny little flowers that didn't even count. It was composed of everything that no one was allergic to because their bodies couldn't be bothered about it. The stuff it wasn't worth being allergic to.

Willow and Birdie walked right by.

As the red~headed witch started up the Passat, Birdie got the nerve to speak.

"Was there, uh, anything else?" She fastened her seatbelt.

Willow avoided her gaze by studiously checking the window and rearview mirrors while backing out of the parking lot.

"Not really. Coma. Most of the big bones broken, all the bleeding inside." Swift wheel~turning onto the main road. "But, just to make it more _fun_, we have the added bonuses of Slayer healing and demons and things, to better confuse the nice people in the white coats. It's so hard. We-- we can't just _tell_ them," She shook her head.

She waved a finger around, smiling at an imaginary physician.

"'Hey, that size zero blonde girl in intensive care? Yeah, give her about twice as much medication, otherwise it won't do any good. What? Yeah, I know it would _usually_ kill a person of her weight, but you really should trust me on this. See, she's _special_. What? No, I don't have any medical training, but hey! I'm a witch, so it's okay!"

Birdie watched from the passenger seat. Her throat ached from tears.

"I'm scared too," she whispered. 

Willow shook her head back and forth a few times, biting her upper lip. "Oh God--" she choked out, suddenly transforming from concerned technical to sobbing sentimental. "Oh --_God--_!" She threw her arms back and hit at the wheel.

The car swerved dangerously as Willow's vision and concentration evaporated. Birdie lunged forward and grabbed the wheel, guiding the car to the side of the road. She jerked the stick into park, breathed a careful sigh of relief, then let herself collapse into the crying witch.

And she was crying as well.

@ @ @

The Watcherette and the vampire, looking for all the world like Punks on Parade, stood side by side in the sterile hospital hallway, in front of the observation window into the Slayer's 'room'.

She lay there, on the electric~powered hospital bed, literally dead to the world. Her audience, however, knew that somewhere inside, deep deep inside, a battle was raging.

But they didn't know who was winning.

Marion spoke softly, still staring at the tiny young woman that, even in her short time in Sunnydale, she had come to regard as toppleless.  
There was something about the girl that made it impossible to imagine her defeated. So fragile, but so totally untouchable. 

Perhaps that was exactly what drove the forces of darkness to her.

"I don't see why you hate her so," she quietly addressed the vampire beside her.

Spike shook his head. "I don't," he replied. "She wanted this. It was a soddin' _favor_."

"That's not what I meant, Spike. This--" she gestured vaguely at the tiny form-- "This is quite possibly the sweetest thing I've seen you do for her."

The young Watcher swallowed, pulling back hospital tears.

"There's something deep running between you two. It's like a resined rope, binding you. Connecting you. I can't say what it is, but it acts like hate."

She tore her eyes from the stricken Slayer, and to the startlingly intelligent face of a demon.

"Why do you hate her?"

Spike met Marion's gaze, searched her eyes for anything. He looked back at Buffy, approached the wire~enforced glass of the window and brought a pale hand up to touch it.

"She killed me," he said simply. "She killed the thing I was, thing I knew how to be, destroyed me down to my very core, until nothing was left but ash. And she spit on the dust and ground it beneath her heel." 

He shrugged. "And I can accept that. Not a major loss there. Except..." he swallowed. "...First, she made me human enough to feel it." He paused, to let this sink in, then swallowed and elaborated. 

"She inspired that which she destroyed. She built me up, then tore me down more wholly than I would've thought possible. She made me feel human. And for that I can never forgive her.

She drew lines in the sand and threw me across them. She inspired me to do evil after making me a better person than I'd been in a hundred years."

Marion stared, aghast, at the wounds visible on Spike's face. She looked back at the catatonic young woman through the window glass.

"I. I can't see that. I can't see Buffy doing that to _anyone_."

Spike let his fingers slide down the glass. They didn't leave oil streaks, of course. He too stared at Buffy, but Marion didn't see any hate in him. None directed at the Slayer, anyway.

"She didn't know," he whispered. "Even as she ripped me to bloody _pieces_, she truly didn't know it hurt."

Marion swallowed again. "And that's why you won't forgive her?"

Spike shook his head and turned away from the glass, down the hospital corridor.

"No," he said quietly. "That's why I don't hate her."

@ @ @

Noon.

For some, a siesta.

_*Brinngibeep* *Bringibeep*_

Giles leaned over to answer the phone. "H-hello?"

"Giles! Vampires! Lots and lots of vampires!"

The Watcher-cum-bartender furrowed his brow. "Vampires?

"Vampires! Lots and lots of vampires! They nearly ate us!"

Giles shook his head into the phone. "But it's the midday."

There was a pause. "What?"

The unidentified, hysterical voice was calmed down by confusion enough so that he could recognize it.

"Anya?"

"Yes!"

"Vampires."

"Yes!"

"Are you and Xander unhurt?"

"Basically. They were going to eat us, but the boat left."

...

"How late is it there?"

"About nine."

"Ah. That would explain it. Ah, Anya, could you give the phone to Xander?"

There was muffled talking and rustling, then, "Yello?"

"Xander."

"Giles."

...

British sigh. "Vampires?" he prompted.

"Yeah. Lots and--"

"--lots of vampires. I got that already. Where?"

"Spain. You know, like us? Except not anymore."

"Oh?" Giles stood, and carried the cradle to the kitchen counter, so that he could reach the Scotch. It sounded like he was going to need it, to keep up with this conversation. "Why not anymore? Did you kill them?"

"Nah. Anya talked to them. Scared em so bad they all hopped a boat to Boca."

Giles took the cap off a bottle one~handed. "Boca? They went to 'Mouth?'"

There was more muffled talking.

"Sorry. The whole thing went down en español. I got confused. Ahn says they were yelling 'Boca del Infierno.'"

"Boca del-- The Mouth of Hell?"

...

"Oh. Crap."

@ @ @

"...and us down a Slayer."

"Indeed."

Willow watched the Watchers, a bit red~eyed, but all the better for a good long cry. At least something was happening for her to deal with, now. Distractions had gotten her through some of the hardest trials of her life. Yup. Something bad happens, it's a guarentee there's something coming along right behind it. It was good to see that _something_ stayed constant.

"I-I don't understand. Why would they come here?"

Giles whipped off his glasses. "Well, the tentative walls of reality here do draw the forces of darkness. It can be a rather powerful pull, I'm told."

"Yeah, but why right now? Why would they all get up and leave like that? All sudden~like?"

Marion turned to Giles. "Perhaps they heard that the Slayer was fallen?"

Giles waved a dismissive hand. "There's no way they could have heard so quickly. And there's nothing to be gained for them in that. There is no Slayer in Spain. To my knowledge," he added wearily.

Willow did the worry~face. "I'm worried." She wrung her hands until she realized her ...uh, something person... was watching. Hands: tuck firmly into her lap. Don't wiggle.

"It's... From what I've heard, it sounds like they're massing for something. Getting all in one place."

Giles stopped rubbing his spectacles. "To catch the show."

Marion's eyes darted to Willow's. "Or to get in on it."

@ @ @

After some aimless wandering and constructive weeping with Willow, Birdie had ended up back at the hospital. She had stood at the doors for a long time.

She'd had to move twice to avoid wheelchairs and small children.

In there... Well, one of the best friends she had ever had was in there. Which was pretty sad, considering they really didn't know each other all that well.

But also in there was her. It could have been her. Someday it probably would be. Giles and Marion both had made a point of being frank about that.

Slayers don't get old and wither. They don't get cancer at the age of sixty~eight, fight it for a year and a half, then slip quietly away, pain eased by strong medication, surrounded by sniffling family and friends, with their veiny, arthritic hand held by their second husband.

Live fast, die young. 

That's the deal.

Except you don't get a choice.

Buffy had mentioned something, under her breath, about Slayer death~wishes. Birdie had pretended she hadn't heard, as people do when they don't want to cause tension or sound like an idiot.

But she had thought about it. And there was one thing she was sure of:

She didn't have a death wish. She didn't want to die. She'd been too close too many times for it to hold any appeal at all as a painkiller. 

But she would die. And it would probably hurt a lot. She would probably want death when it came.

She just hoped it wouldn't come _too_ soon.

She just hoped she'd get to save the world first.

She looked up at the hospital, and turned her back on it.

She needed to go home.

@ @ @

Dawn was taking it remarkably well, everyone thought. Most people, if their sister was in a coma, would be distraught. Dawn was just quiet. A bit teary, perhaps, but all in all, a bit lacking in the spaz and freak department.

She, in particular, seemed to lack guilt. Just being in on the casting was the kind of thing that tended to send Scoobies into fits of self~loathing. But she didn't appear to be having a fit. The other members of the little troupe regarded this behavior with slight suspicion, but couldn't really find any rationale to encourage grief. They all had enough already.

But what the other Scoobies couldn't see was the epiphany. The lingering sparkle of a flash realization that had just possibly sent little Dawn into the realm of the nice white jackets with buckles on.

They had missed the birth of a strength.

When Dawn had first been told, but a stuttering, fatherly Giles, that Buffy had, once again, taken one for the team, her first instinct was to shoot the messenger and cry all her fear out. 

But just before the first tears fell, it had been like the living room ceiling had opened, and light had shined down, and she'd felt bathed in it and it had crystallized her, but made her so much more than glass.

And she had no longer wanted to cry.

She had wanted payback.

But even as she manically searched the stock of the Magic Box for relevant texts, she knew it wasn't the Witchy Willow kind of payback. It didn't feel good enough. It felt like she was heartbroken and lost, but not without a map. Like she was finally doing something _right_ for someone else. For her sister, who had died for her, she would research, and she would find, and she would plan, and she would die, if she really really had to, because favors should be returned. 

And in her studies, she found a slim volume, forgotten, in a little drawer beside the cash register. She opened it and frowned. It was all Latin~y.

It really put a crimp in save~age plans when you couldn't even read half the texts.

She flipped through, hoping for pictures, and stopped to admire the little illustrations on a page near the middle. Looked like planetary alignments, or something. Interesting.

The bell dinged. She set the book down on the counter with the rest and turned to greet the customer.

"Hello, woah."

"I know, I know. Point me at the mugwort."

Dawn pointed silently, eyes glued to the man. He trundled off in the direction she had pointed, and scanned a shelf until he found what he was looking for.

"Ah!" He popped the cork and dumped the stuff over his head.

"Pico tanna," he said, and waited a moment.

Dawn overcame her stupor and giggled. "Feel better?"

The man looked down at his arms, turning them over and touching his face.

"Less blue. Yeah." He stretched his neck out, like skin color had made him tense.

Well, the skin color he'd been sporting probably had.

"Don't you _hate_ it when spells go wrong?" he asked, placing the empty bottle on the counter for her to ring up.

Dawn ran a hand through her hair.

"Yeah."

@ @ @

In the sewers...

Spike stalked. Just because he could. Oh, and also, he'd just hospitalized the woman he didn't love.

And the sewers were crowded.

Probably some kinky blood festival coming up, or something. He was sort of out of the loop on that. Local vamps coming out of the woodwork, raising the dead with their poncy chanting and such.

Distracted, he bumped into one of the other denizens of below.

"Sod off," he muttered, out of habit.

"Shokken."

Spike stopped and knit his brow. "What the hell--" he turned back around. "Oi! What's a soddin' _Netherlander_ doing in California?" he called at the vamp's retreating back. He was ignored. 

With a 'today is today, why fight it' sigh, he turned back around, into yet another vamp.

"Forsiktig, hurtig."

@ @ @@ @@@

Hmm. Interesting. Why are all the vamps heading for Sunnydale? We wonder...

Well, I mean _you_ wonder --hopefully-- and I know --mostly.

Review. It rocks my world, and it doesn't hurt you any. 

You'll get a warm fuzzy feeling inside, I bet. 

You'll have to try it out if you want to prove me wrong. 

Oh, just do it.

~Star Mouse 


	20. The Everythings are coming!

**Chapter Twenty: The Everything's are coming!**

At long last: Chapter 20. If you've been keeping up with my usual flow, you're going to be _amazed_ at the plottyness in here. All sorts of stuff happens. And you'd better believe there's a good, oh, 15-20 chapters left in this story yet. Hope you stick around, and check out updates.

Speaking of updates, my other serial, "Of Blondes that Bite and Stab" has gotten a couple, and I've posted a couple new shorties.

Have fun.

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

Let us think, for a minute, on what a Watcher _does_, and what a Watcher _is._

Watchers, _good_ Watchers, read, write, puzzle, think, mull over, cogitate, theorize, conclude, and solve problems.

They are lovers of knowledge, in the slightly more amourous sense of the word. But at their _core_, they are fighters. They are the ones that preach about honour and really believe in what they're saying, but when it comes to protecting their young and their Slayer, they claw and bite and scratch and throw dirt and pull pipes out of the walls about beat evil about the head as the water sprays wildly about them. And for decorous people, they seem to always know exactly what to say to get in a hit below the belt.

They are animals, and they are fighters, but knowledge is their home.

And all animals seek home when they are afraid.

Giles and Marion both dived into Researchland with animalistic fervor, not really knowing what else to do, not really wanting to feel as helpless as they did. There had to be something, they both knew. There couldn't _not_ be an answer. The books always held the answer.

And, yes. They were right. The answer was in the books.

Either one of them could have found it. They conducted separate quests, Marion of her library recently shipped from England, and Giles of his books at home and the Magic Box. But they both had the same book.

It was just chance that Giles read through his at 3am, and completely missed the implications of what he was reading.

Marion, who did her reading at a more reasonable hour, stopped breathing for a good minute, until the page started getting fuzzy.

_@ @ @_

Whump! "Urgh..." _Poof!_

Birdie nodded. "Nice. He never knew what hit him."

Dawn nodded. "Probably not." She paused. "Was he speaking Chinese?"

Birdie nodded. "Yeah, probably a tourist that got turned, or something. Who knows."

Dawn checked her watch. She had to get back to researching. "Do you think we can pack it up a little early tonight? I mean, I know we're the world's only defense against oblivion right now, but it's a school night..."

"Absolutely. Where'd we leave the duffel?"

@ @ @

Back at the Magic Box, again, Giles scanned shelves for things he may have missed before. And his gaze rested on the counter by the cash register. Odd. 

There was a book lying open that he didn't remember reading.

He stumbled over, a bit impeded by the boxes of priceless ancient Spanish relics, Madrid fashions and novelty sombreros Anya had been sending back.

He squinted at the open page, and automatically translated the Latin. His eyebrows shot up on the fifth word, and stayed up for the rest of the paragraph.

"My word."

He snatched the slim book up from the counter and started reading aloud as he got more excited, bringing the text over to the lamp.

"...And one among their number shall fall standing, and they shall mass, and those who fight alone in dark shall fight together, for an army of the dead shall require the work of but six: The Vampire with the Soul, The Demon with the Soul, The Slayer, The Slayer. . .The Slayer. . . . and The ...Slayer."

He looked up at nothing, and then stuck a finger in the page, flipping back to the cover to see what the hell he was reading, and why he hadn't seen this before.

He would have laughed, if it wasn't so horribly ironic.

This was that drunken sod Grlarnkmkun's useless book.

His brow knit as he processed more of the prophesy.

"Army?"

"Rupes? Where the hell are you?"

Giles winced at the volume. "Spike, I'm right here."

"Oh, well then." The vampire stalked up through the basement access, brushing dust off his duster. He glared at the Watcher almost accusitorily.

"I've just been through the sewers, boyo, and you know what's down there?"

Giles shook his head. "I dare not hazard a guess."

"Germans. Mexicans. Puerto Ricans. Chinese. Phillipines. Turks. Brits. _Canadians, _man! We're overrun, and it's damn well not because of any open door policy _I_ know about."

Giles spoke quietly staring past Spike into the distance. "No. They're massing. The army is massing."

Spike furrowed his brow. "Massing? What army?"

Giles turned away, waving the book over his shoulder. "This was forseen. There's a-a demon army, being gathered. !Oh, bloody hell, the Spaniards."

"Don't like Spaniards?"

"This is what Anya and Xander were talking about. Let's see..." Giles wanted his globe. It was comforting. "It'll take a month or so for them to get here, especially if they forgoe land travel for the Panama Canal... Anya and Xander saw the greater vampire population of Madrid board a vessel bound for the Hellmouth."

Spike bit his lip. "Rupes."

"Mm?"

"Who's army are they?"

@ @ @

"Miss Rosenberg?"

Willow's head shot up. "Yes." 

She was sitting in a horrible green chair in a line of other horrible green chairs, and it was killing her but she couldn't bring herself to stand. The slightly overweight, bob~haired nurse smiled like a person that smiles all day because that's what she has to do to get through it.

"You said you wanted to be informed if there was any news..."

"Yes! What? What's happening?"

The nuse came closer, kneeling in front of Willow, still seated, and looking up at her. "The doctor wanted me to ask you... Now please don't take offense, we need to know-- Has Miss Summers been taking any steroids, or performance-enhancing drugs?"

Willow scrunched her eyebrows. "What? No."

"It's just, she's reacting oddly to the treatments, and drug use might expl--"

"Oddly? How oddly?"

"Well! She's been reacting well! There's no problem, at the moment. But she's healing much more swiftly than she . . . Well, than she has any right to be. Her bones are nearly knit, and it's only been a few weeks. We took her off the ventilator about an hour ago. I'd call it a miracle, if I didn't suspect something more. . . Chemical."

"No," Willow shook her head, a bit dazed. "No chemicals. Chemicals bad. Very very ...bad.Can I see her?"

"She's not awake. There's no point."

"She's still-- Will she wake up?"

The nurse swallowed. "We don't know. She hasn't shone any signs of coming out of it. We're keeping her on the IV, so she won't die, but we won't be able to measure the potential damage to her brain until she wakes."

Willow nodded, biting her lip as the tears came.

"Can I see her? Please?"

@ @ @

You know that stage when you're almost sure you have the answer, but not _quite_ sure enough to risk getting anyone's hopes up? Like in math bingo, and you think you have a line, but you keep rechecking all the problems way past the point of sanity just to make _sure _their right?

Marion had reached that stage.

She needed to tell _somebody_, before she burst. But who? Spike wasn't really talking to anyone, going off and doing secretive vampire things on his own. Willow was _way_ too high~strung right now as it was, and besides, she was at the hospital right now. And Giles. . . Ahem. A little portion of her was screaming _My discovery! Mineminemine! The evil professor will_ not_ take the credit!_

So she compromised, and actually did a rather stupid thing.

She confided her findings to Dawn.

The brunette was shaken by everything that had happened, yes, but was, Marion felt, quite nearly sane, and if she understood this garble, Dawn was the only one that really needed to know anyway. . .

"Trapped?"

"Yes. Inside her brain, or her soul, or whatever makes her tick. The demon pushed _her_ down so it could manifest itself, and she got so weak, pushed down so far... She can't get out." Marion frowned. "I think."

Dawn creased her brow. "So that's it? She can't wake up, the end? That can't be it. You wouldn't be telling me all this if there wasn't something I could do, right? That can't be _it!"  
_  
"No, that's not it. She can't free herself, but her body is healing. When her body wakes, it will be the demon that stands it up. Not your sister."

"So you want me to be prepared to fight her."

"...no. I--. I want you to fight for her. I think there _may_ be a way to bring her back."

Dawn raised her eyebrows. _Go on, you stupid british twit._ Marion ran a hand through her fluffy red~lighted hair.

"I found, in a book. .It's an account of someone stricken by a demon. Her daughter ...it's called mind~diving... She rescued her mother from the mental prison in which she'd been trapped by going in after her."

"A daughter?"

Marion nodded, and let her meaning sink in. "Someone of her blood, close to her and like her. According to the Watcher who observed it all, they would have to be very alike for the procedure to take at all."

Dawn shook her head. "You think _I'm _like Buffy?"

"From what I've been told, Dawn, you _are_ Buffy. Made of her blood. You two were similar enough for her to take your place in death. Maybe that will work again."

The teenager stared at the wall for a second.

"Then I guess I should return the favor, huh?"

@ @ @

Birdy momentarily mistook the ringing phone for the microwave. She realized her mistake halfway to the unit, popcorn bowl in hand.

Odd. It was nearly midnight. Who could possibly be calling?

With good news, anyway.

"Hello?"

There was a sigh on the other line, then warm tones in an ancient tongue.

"_Katherine_. So it's really you there. You're safe."

The Slayer's heart beat a bit faster as she recognised the voice.

"Sanna!"

"Yes, little bird. It's that old man again. And you've become a Slayer! My my my."

"Pretty much what I was doing before, just different town. Is everything alright? The Jackels haven't--"

"No, they haven't. No, little birdie, I'm calling for you."

"Me?"

"There's a movement, Katherine. Vampires from all round here are gathering their things and heading directly towards you."

"Here? But," she narrowed her eyes. "Why now? It can't be just the Hellmouth. Are stars aligning or something?" 

She could _see _the old man shake his head, white hair drifting about slower than the skull, like a cloud around his head.

"No, bird. Someone is calling them, and you had best be ware."

"I-- I will. Sanna, do you know anything else?" she asked, well aware of the phone bill that must be racking up during his long silences.

"I do not. But we will scour the books to find some further clue."

"Thank you, Sanna."

"Nothing, my bird."

She bit her lip. "...I miss you."

"And we miss you as well, Katherine McGregor."

There was a click and then a moment of silence before the phone went to hum.

The microwave beeped.

@ @ @

Boots crunch on glass, and kick rubble out of the way. The boots are followed into the torchlight by a dark grey pinstripe suit, and two pocketed hands, and a face, still partially shrouded in shadow. As minions mill around what is left of the Master's cave, the suit speaks.

"This is it? This is the invincible fortress you idiots were on about?"

The closest, and therefore currently most elevated minion seeks to respond.

"It, ah, it served the Master well, ...master."

"I don't believe it will serve me, however. Too small. Too dark." a nose not wrinkles, but ridges, "Too rank."

The vampire steps fully into the torchlight, and his face takes your breath away. No. It's not his face. It's ...his mouth. His eyes. The way he surveys everything like it's his and about to die. And disgusting.

"This place is disgusting." A half sigh. "But we need somewhere to hide the troops while they assemble. The local demons are starting to get suspicious already. Tell the others that this is home sweet home for a while, until we can locate ...more spacious accomadations."

"...and...you, Sire?"

"I will be lodging at the Sunnydale Buntil further notice."

@ @ @

Please review. You have no Idea how nice it is to know people are actually readinghtis thing. Well, unless you are also an author. Now that I think about it, most of you probably are, so . . . You _know _how good it feels. Let me in on the happy.

But only if you actually liked it, or have a suggestion.

Great. Now I'm gonna beat myself about the head for every review I don't get, 'cause if I hadn't said that, you would have reviewed and said something noncommital like 'good story. Keep updating' and we'd be done with it. Now it's like 'Gee, do I really like Star Mouse's story so much that I'd waste three seconds of my valuble time telling her so, after spending ten minutes reading her crap? I just don't know...'

Or maybe you're thinking, "What the hell is Star Mouse talking about? These AN's suck. What a crappy writer. I bet she babbles even more in person. I hope I never have the misfortune to meet her."

Okay, I'm _really_ going to shut up now, before I accidently poke myself in the eye with a big stick.

~Star Mouse 


	21. Intermission and Summary

**Pseudo-Chapter 21/Intermission and Summary**

Hey, all. 

Ahem. NevermindDaria and others expressed annoyance at long stories that one must read back through to reaquante oneself with the plot each update, and I totally know what you mean.

So. Since this is probably going to end up being close the the halfway point --I'm guessing on this-- and I would hate to cause anyone kind enough to read this any angst (this is a non~angst zone) I have written a lovely little summary up through chapter 20.

Say 'thank you, Star Mouse.'

Or not. I mean, you don't have to.

It's not like I'll know. You could even _tell me_ you said 'thank you' aloud to yourself, and I wouldn't ever be the wiser.

@ @ @

Chapter 1: Introduction to this little soap bubble of a world.

I explain the setting and express my annoyance with post~Grave fics, Buffy drowns her sorrows with diet Coke, Giles gets Grlarnkmkun's little black book, and sends Spike out to watch over Buffy's patrol.

Chapter 2: Fun at the bar, and other stuff, I guess.

Buffy and Spike have a fi~_forceful discussion_ in the cemetary, and a mysterious young woman (Birdie) drops through the bar roof.

Chapter 3: Lot's of talking, blah blah blah.

You basically just get the car ride over to Rupert's, some ominous half~answers, and a basic physical description of Birdie. No name yet, though.

Chapter 4: Answers, Questions, Moping, Death. Whee!

Birdie reveals that the Slayer's gonna croak soon, according to her sources, which are toga men in Asia, and can't be wrong, and we are reminded that Buffy has already died three times, so there're three extra Slayers running around. Buffy engages in some light angst.

Chapter 5: Wild wacky whirligig of fun, like always.

Dawn meets Birdie, Giles confronts Spike about staying on the side of good, yada yada, oh crap! Buffy's been shot! And Birdie was just called as the Slayer! Oh no!

Chapter 6: Panic Party and Sunshine.

Oh, wait, Buffy's not dead after all. Never mind. Scooby group hug, and Anya learns to snap her fingers.

Chapter 7: Xander Harris sums it up.

Giles gets confirmation of Pujha Pari's death from the Council of Watchers, and Birdie moves in with the Summerseseses...es.s.es. Buffy and Dawn.

Chapter 8: Sewers and Shellfish and all else slimey.

Mood establishment. We find out about the new Watcher, but we don't actually see her in Sunnydale yet.

Chapter 9: Watcher Wars IV: A New Hope.

Giles reads Grlarnkmkun's book, and finds a lot of old stuff that they already know. Isn't it weird how all those prophecies from hundreds of years ago are found, like, a week before anything happens? Anyway, Birdie's Watcher comes, she and Giles kick each other's asses, destroying the Magic Box in the process, Buffy catches Birdie up on the first six seasons, and we find out that Willow is a computer teacher at the high school. Anya has a total spaz and breaks Giles' glasses.

Chapter 10: The Other One

Birdie meets her new Watcher, I babble on about renovations no one remembers any more, clean up efforts at the Magic Box begin, and Spike grudgingly lets Buffy into the crypt.

Chapter 11: A little role~reversal with your tea?

Marion, Birdie's Watcher, meets Willow, and tentative sparkles fly. Buffy and Spike demonstrate that there is definitely still chemistry, but then not so tentative fists fly and they cuss each other out. See the contrast, here? Dawn gets Willow and Marion to teach her magic, and we see Birdie in action.

Chapter 12: Blood, Mmm good.

Dawn, Willow, and Marion make Buffy a 'protective amulet', Birdie grosses Spike out by drinking blood, Xander confides in Giles his desire to embrace Anya's ...unique heritage.

Chapter 13: Another icky bathroom scene.

Me babbling on and on about Russia. . . Oh, they killed Rasputin. . . Uh oh! Buffy's gagging into the toilet! Dawn thinks it's bulimia, but it was actually an averted suicide attempt. We find out that Marion got flunked by Giles, hence the breakage of noses and store... Xander gets D'Hoffryn to proceed over the wedding, and Anya's happy again.

Chapter 14: Odd things demons can do to your system.

Uh oh! Buffy's possessed, and she's acting like a total bitch! (But which one's the _real_ Buffy?!) the Witch und Watcher figure out that restoring energy to Buffy directly will give her the strength to stamp down the demon, temporarily. Buffy gets food.

Chapter 15: Shopping all 'round, and Buffy all alone:

Birdie and Marion bond at the mall, and we get some back story on the Scarred Slayer. Giles stumbles upon the cure for the demon, but seems reluctant to tell anyone. Buffy figures it out on her own.

Chapter 16: So they finally got it over with.

The wedding. Willow also figures out the answer to the DemonQestion, but determines to find another way, for Buffy's sake... Humm.... Demonic wedding. Very sweet.

Chapter 17: Pent-up agression and Questions.

Buffy momentarily loses control of the demon, and confirms what she had suspected in chap 15: When it's in control, it feels the damage. So if something hurts her while she's in full-on demon mode, it takes the brunt of it. Birdie and Willow discuss Marion's sexual orientation, and Buffy tells spike to kick her ass. Marion kisses Willow, answering _that_ question.

Chapter 18: My very first blow-by-blow fight scene.

Anya and Xander get into vampire trouble in Spain, and Spike puts Buffy in the hospital, after much mudslinging and grinding of salt into old wounds. Metephorically, of course.

Chapter 19: Multilengual Shenanigans.

Xander and Anya are saved when the vapiric population of Spain gets on a boat, hellmouth bound. Spike encounters the peoples of nations in the sewers, much to his confusion, and everybody mourns, except Dawn, who grows up and deals with stuff. Oh, and some random blue guy runs into the Magic Box. Ha ha.

Chapter 20: The British are coming! And the Dutch, and the Spaniards, and the Canadians...

Giles finds a prophecy re: an army and four Slayers stopping it, Marion figures out that Dawn can save Buffy from her own mind. Birdie gets a warning call form her toga guys, telling her about the army, and oh look: there's a shadowy guy in a suit wandering around the Master's cave. 


	22. A little light magic, just for fun

**Chapter Twenty-Two: A litle light magic, just for fun.__**

For me, this is a prompt update. I'm taking eight classes and starting to wonder just how stupid I was to do something like that. Marching band takes 28 hours/week (I counted) and the next two weekends will be spent in Indianapolis, at the Bands of America Regionals/Nationals. But I'm sure all of you fine people also have better, more productive things to be doing, so I thank you. For being a little number on my hit counter, nad letting me know that someone is really reading this thing.

You know, the lighter side of sarcasm is really lost in print. I really _do_ appreciate everyone who reads this, and the ones that leave their mark on my review board earn a special place in my heart.

~Star Mouse"__

@ @ @

For the sake of sanity all round, as well as the plot flow, we're going to skip all the hand~wringing and Scooby debate over the logic of Marion's theory and the wisdom of Dawn's decision. Let's say all make good arguments, leaving just enough doubt to keep tensions high, but everyone eventually agrees that this may be the best option.

The gathering of a demon army is getting even more obvious, now. Spike's been noticing a huge influx of creatures of the night, and strange rumours besides.

@ @ @

Dawn looked up at the door click, still holding Buffy's hand. 

Marion and Willow hurried in, the punk Watcher with a leather satchel slung over her shoulder.

"Okay, pet. You're ready?" She pulled the bag from her shoulder and set it on the hospital bed, by Buffy's hip. "We should have about twenty minutes of privacy before nurses start coming in asking about the smoke."

Willow pulled four pillar candles from beneath her bulky jacket.

"Dawnie, are you sure you want to do this?"

"Giles said it makes sense. I think it makes sense. Buffy's done worse for me. Yeah, I'm sure."

Marion bit her lip, glanced at Willow, and nodded. "Alright. Dawn, you have to be in physical contact with the focus. So, ah, get on the bed with Buffy. Will, pass us the lighter."

Willow pulled a silver canister lighter from her pocket, lit the candles, then tossed it to Marion. 

Dawn gingerly lied down on the narrow bed next to her sister, and took her limp hand in hers.

Marion pulled a steel wool pouch from the satchel, obviously worried about time constraints. She fooshed the lighter and held it under the metal ring pouch, letting it dangle by a leather cord. 

"Connectors," she whispered. "Ties that bind; strengthen, draw tight. Connectors. Ties that bind..."

Willow stood carefully, a sputtering candle in each hand. She nodded Dawn all the encouragement she could spare, and set the candles on either side of the plastic headboard. 

She gently took Buffy's hands from Dawn's, and rested them against the candles. She arranged the Slayer's fingers so that they were gripping the pillars. Dawn brought her hand up to Buffy's neck, in order to keep contact, and settled back down again, leaning against her sister, watching the witches work.

Marion's chanting got louder, and Willow turned away from the bed and joined her, down a fifth, adding timbre to the spell.

Dawn's eyes darted around the room, looking for some indication of power building. All there was were the flickering, sputtering candles. And that could have just been the damp.

Just then, the chant shifted, and she didn't need outward signs of magic. She could feel the power in her gut. Marion's voice rose until she was screaming into the void that all the room's occupant's could feel in their guts.

"....that bind; strengthen, draw tight. Connectors, pull tight! Connectors, pull! Connectors! Guide this traveller through the veil! Guide this traveller! Guide her true, into the abyss and out! Guide her! Connectors, now!"

The world fell away like an elevator plunging down the shaft. In her mind, Dawn was falling with it, and the noise was deafening. She thought there were voices in the garble, but it all blended into static and it was tearing her head apart. 

"...Deathforgiveyourgiftbeneathyoubruisedangelcarriedyourheartonegirlin allthecouragehienaneverbefriendsbeneathmehappymealssosorrydeathwi shcaptaincardboardbrazilshowyoubitchgoingthroughtheaureliusheavencal lsyoutaralightattheendofthewillowspikewhyicouldneverloveyou..."

In the real world, Dawn spasmed and shook the bed. Marion stopped chanting and lunged forward to keep the teenager's twitching arm in contact with Buffy's skin. She shot Willow a frantic look.

"This shouldn't be happening! The book didn't say anything about physical stress! I think she's having trouble getting in."

Willow grabbed the water pitcher from the bedside table, and held it undecidedly over the candle by Buffy's left hand. "Should we abort?"

Marion bit her lip, jerking as she fought to keep Dawn's hand on Buffy's neck. If Dawn got hurt-- If they really were close--"...No. Give it a min, pet. It--it may be just something to do with the demon. I'm not sure. If--"

The pillar candle went flying, knocking the pitcher out of Willow's hand.

Just as Marion was registering the shattering noise, something hit her in the temple, and things went confusing.

"Marion!" Willow wracked her brain for something to calm out of control elements in a spell like this. Then she realized the candle hadn't launched itself.

It had been thrown.

Her startled gaze landed on Buffy, who was no longer sleeping.

_Oh, God._

"_Willow_. How _nice_ to see you again." Buffy sat up a little, Dawn still convulsing against her, and Marion sprawled over her torso. Her gaze landed on the remaining candle, and she gripped it for real.

"Suffered a bit of a relapse, I see."

Willow backed away, desperately reviewing her options and throwing them out, one by one.

"You're not Buffy," she whispered, trying to stall.

Non-Buffy smiled wryly. Or was it a smirk? She hefted the candle, spilling wax, and letting the flame burn sideways away from the wick.

"No," she said. The candle came down hard on Dawn's neck, and her other arm came up quickly, eliciting a snap from the teenager's own. Dawn's shaking grew more violent as physical pain was added to the mental beating. Buffy dropped the candle, and hopped out of bed without a backward glance. "I'm not." She headed for the door.

As she passed Willow, she shook her finger at her, as if considering. "But I'm not gonna deal with you right now. Too spooky, with the witchcraft thing. But don't get me wrong." She lashed out suddenly, sending Willow to the floor with a well~aimed kick to the gut.

"I'm not afraid of you. Just on a tight schedule."

Willow gasped for breath, leaning against the wall. _Oh, God._

Marion stirred, and groaned. "What~" She stopped. "Where's the Slayer gone?"

Willow coughed a little, and Marion's head shot round. "Willow! Are you all right? What's happened?"

Willow blinked and swallowed. "Oh, God."

@ @ @

Spike was nursing a bottle of something a bit like paint thinner when the phone trilled. His hand wandered over to it and he snapped it open, pulling it slowly up to his ear.

"'ello?"

"Spike! Get down to the hospital. Something's happened. It's Dawn."

@ @ @

A wine flute, the sparkling contents swirled with an expert hand. The kind of hand that will swirl such a drink for quite a long time, just to work up the appetite to drink.

Or to deal with more important matters.

"Slayers."

The minion groveled, as good minions tend to do, but made no comment. His master wasn't finished yet.

The business~suited man contemplated his goblet a moment, then looked up, at the distance, not the messenger.

"You have brought us to a town with not one but _two_ Slayers. Am I the only one that sees the problem in this situation?"

The hapless bearer of bad tidings risked a glance at his boss.

"Uh, you did want a place with lots of demons to . . .recruit."

"Yes. At first glance, the Hellmouth _does_ seem like the perfect place to launch operations. At first glance," he restated. 

He finally took a sip of the drink in his hand, and something about the way it moves suggests that it is quite a bit thicker than wine or water.

"At _second_ glance, however --this is providing that my scouts ever actually _take_ a second glance, of course-- one would realize that a location which has been adopted by multiple Vampire Slayers might not be the best place to assemble an army to conquer them. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Oh, I don't know," a voice called from near the entrance. A small blonde figure stepped out of the shadows, staying just hidden enough to still reek of danger.

"Sounds pretty convenient, to me."

The business suit regarded her with disinterest. "Michael, were you not _also_ in charge of posting guards along the perimeter?"

The minion fishmouthed for a second. "Uh, I did."

The blonde nodded, coming out of the shadows. She was wearing green hospital pajamas, the ones they give you if you're going to be enjoying an extended stay.

"Oh, I saw them." She brandished a tree branch. "Then they went away."

The vampire in the suit bit his cheek in contemplation, then set his glass down. "I see. What a dreadful waste of resources. So, having fought your way to the inner sanctum, do you expect to dispatch me as well?"

She smirked, and he was reminded of someone else he'd once encountered. "I didn't come to kill you, sillyhead." The minions in the room cringed at the informality, and saw her catch the reflex. She met his eyes, and he saw two as cold as his own.

"I came to join you."

"Mm. Killing my followers to earn my trust... Yes, I think I can see how that would seem like a good idea to some people this late at night. I'm not impressed. And you're going to be dead very shortly."

There was a brief scuffle as three minions darted forward to match word with deed.

Then the dust cleared.

The blonde tapped the tree branch on the concrete floor, dislodging grains of what looked like grey sand. The business suit blinked.

"I must say: now I'm impressed."

Another smirk. "So I'm in?"

"Not so quickly, little one. There's still the unresolved and oddly unmentioned factor of a motive."

She shrugged. "Who needs a motive? It's pretty simple. I want to be on the winning side. I couldn't walk the sewers for fifteen minutes without sensing the shift to your corner. You're building up some pretty major fighting power here. You realize the resistance you're going to face amounts to a tiny group of twenty~something college drop~outs? You - with how many thousand followers, when all the imports arrive-- will be pitted against the cast of Friends. Not really stressing about the outcome, here. I figure the rewards at the end will be better the earlier I get in on the action." 

"And yet you're human," he stated, but in read more as a question. He was having trouble getting a handle on that. "There must be something more than simple scavenger's instincts."

"Let's just say, among other things ...I'm looking into eternal life, and I'd like you to owe me something before I ask you to grant it."

He was intrigued by the confession, but felt the need to retort, somehow. 

"Don't like being indebted?"

She smiled ..._cheekily?_ "Don't want to trust you to kill me properly unless you know me personally."

@ @ @

"When did this happen?" Spike asked flatly, staring at Dawn's unconscious form.

"Two hours ago. The MindDiving attempted by Marion and Willow went a bit ...awry. Ms. Krumpht says Dawn had a lot more trouble getting into Buffy's mind than they had anticipated. Apparently the attempted intrusion was enough to jolt her awake, but."

"It wasn't Buffy."

Giles shook his head. "Judging by appearances, I'd say not. The break in the arm was clean, and she has some deep bruising on her neck, but not anything to paralize her, thank God. They've knocked her out, until the pain eases a bit."

Spike nodded slowly. "Where are they?"

"With Birdie, running tracking spells and such to locate her before she can do any damage."

Spike looked back down at Dawn.

"Too late."

@ @ @

"Nothing. All we found was nothing."

"I'll keep looking."

"It's no use. We don't have the materials to cast any truly successful search spells."

Birdie sighed. "I'll keep patrolling. You two should get some rest, recover from today's injuries. You can start again in the morning."

Willow and Marion nodded. "Perhaps that would be wise," the Watcher admitted.

Birdie and Willow left, and Marion clicked the Summer's front door shut.

It was so quiet in this house.

And the Slayer was on the loose, not in a good way.

And there was an army building just outside town.

The Key was unconscious, in a neck brace and an arm cast.

Marion closed her eyes. They needed help.

She blinked her eyes open and pulled her address book out of her purse on the way to the wall phone in the kitchen.

She flipped through until she had found what she was looking for, and dialed the twelve digits.

It rang.

The other line was answered. Marion listened through the receptionist's greeting, then glanced down at the page again.

"This is Field Watcher Marion Calder Krumpht, requesting immediate contact with Lord Calvin."

Pause. She looked back down at the page.

"076538671--XEBU."

Pause. "Thank you."

Longer pause, impatient shuffling of feet, tapping of blue fingernails on wall cradle, British swearing under breath.

Then: "Yes, thank you for agreeing to speak with me, sir. I assure you this is a matter of utmost imp--"

Pause. "Uh, just fine, from my perspective, I suppose."

Pause. Sigh. "Sunny, about 87 this last week."

Pause. "Yes. Thank you. Sir, I realize when I was assigned to this post that I was told to be ready for all types of demons and chaos, but I really didn't expect such an extent. ...There's an army massing. The Slayer's possessed and out of control. Birdie cannot handle this situation herself, and I fear that against such odds I will not be of much assistance either."

Pause.

"Well, frankly, I want you to send reinforcements."

Pause.

"The Slayers."

@ @ @

Need I remind you that I don't have (and don't want) a blessed clue when it comes to 'witchcraft'? I certainly hope not. Like I said: Candles. And herbs. Something about herbs.

Hope everyone's enjoying the plot, and not having too much trouble following it. You know I love the reviews.

~Star Mouse 


	23. Paint the town red

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Paint the town red.**

I'm back. I'm writing. I got accepted into my happy school, and I finished all my stupid courses with three days to spare. I'm in driver's ed, which is another name for the second ring of hell. I bet you thought I was dead, when I didn't update for _THREE MONTHS_. But I'm okay. Thanks for caring.

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

There is a bus station. Beyond that, a stretch of highway, a huge city, a huge airport, miles of sky flying by as the plane heads east, pointed west into the rising sun, another airport, another plane, a taxi, pulled by a bicycle, a canoe, a repelling harness, and a cliff overlooking the aquamarine sea and Crayola green forests.

Waffle~soled boots impact with the ground. Brown leather waves around free and hanging, against the background of the bus steps and the front right wheelwell and some driving electric guitar chords. There is a hard tap accented by a drum set impact as the tip of a pole of some exotic wood hits the ground beside the boots. One end is tipped in silver, and grits on the pavement as the pole is twisted by idle hands.

Camera rolls up.

She's asian. That much anyone can guess. She has the tan and the eyes and the nose and the hair, all glossy black but for the ends, feathered with green to match her eyeshadow.

Oh, and the pole? Sharpened like a needle.

Her eyes dart around, scanning escape routes, sources of wood, corners of shadow. Still looking around, she digs into her deep pocket and pulls out a plane ticket folder. Examines a yellow post~it note tacked to the inside.

A fueler passes by. The new arrival waves an arm.

"Excuse me?" She calls. "Where can I find the 'Magic Box'?"

@ @ @

The vampire sat casually at the table, eying the strange young woman over his glass. Strange... And frightening. And, though he loathed to admit it, he was frightened. He honestly couldn't remember the last time that had been the case. But this girl... She had an edge that put him on his. Not only was he almost positive she was insane, she smelled like Slayer.

For even-hundred years his existence had been dependant on his ability to distinguish friend from foe. He had become, over time, extremely sensitive to the smells and senses that heralded different breeds of predator. And prey. He'd tasted four Slayers, and he knew the blood when he smelled it.

This wasn't _all_ Slayer, though. Not quite like the others. It was tainted, diluted, _something._ Almost like a vampire that had totally drained a Slayer, rather than a Slayer herself. But she was no vampire. He could hear her heart beating from here. Slow and steady, completely at ease. Actually, it was a bit slower than most humans he'd observed. (The ones he'd actually encountered, of course, tended to have much faster heartbeats, right before they stopped completely.) 

He narrowed his eyes at the blonde, happily drinking a milkshake from Wendy's, while beside her a minion was happily drinking a manager from Wendy's. She didn't seem to mind in the slightest, and that fact alone weakened his conviction that this was, indeed, a Slayer. They tended to be terribly moral.

And though there was an undercurrent of stinking, sweating humanity, there was question in his mind of whether she was truly human. Apart from the smell, which hinted at something demon, no mere human could do what she'd done to his guards in a matter of seconds. He had to admit it to himself:

He didn't have a clue _what_ she was.

He didn't know _who_ she was.

He didn't, outside a few vague mentions of immortality and 'investments,' know what she wanted.

He didn't like not knowing things. He did not like being afraid. That this small woman could so easily make him such annoyed him no end. 

He didn't know who she was. 

When he'd asked, she'd smirked, and said, "Call me 'Anne.'"

He cocked his head. You know, from this angle...

She sort of looked like an Anne.

There was a dreadful banging around from below, where the assembling 'troops' were presently barracked. 

The banging continued, this time accompanied by what sounded suspiciously like rowdy carousing.

He sighed, turning to the vampire down the table. "Would you _please_ make them behave?"

The vampire wiped his mouth of the fast-food employee's blood, and let the body fall to the floor. "Sorry, sir," he lisped through fangs, "they're just a little . . . Restless."

"Yes, I can hear that. I suggest you _make_ them rest."

"It's just, not letting them hunt, they don't really get much moving time, you know, and bagged animal blood..." the last was said the way a human might say 'rotten lowfat imitation goat cheese...'

"I certainly can't have them all hunting nightly. So close, I hate to risk my assembling troops to the dangers of night to night feeding. There _are_ Slayers out there."

At this, Anne smirked, though whether in contempt or hidden knowledge, he did not know. His tone grew thoughtful as a plan formed.

"However, I see no harm in an organized, 'outing' for a few. A group of ten or so could go out and seek . . . provisions for the rest. Anne," she raised an eyebrow as he addressed her, in a highly disrespectful acknowledgement. "Perhaps you would like to lead such an expedition."

"Take out?" She smiled an absolutely evil grin. "Absolutely." She stood and headed for the entrance.

"Anne:" She turned back.

"Don't cause a scene. I'd rather not have any of the white-hatted authorities on my back. Yet."

@ @ @

The band doors of the Bronze burst open, and ten or so vampires in full game~face ran in. Several immediately broke off, as startled cries came from those who'd seen them emerge, to take up stations at the exits. Two more leapt onstage, immediately snagging lead singer and standing mic. The one with the mic unimaginatively shouted, "Freeze!" to the patrons of the club, who were just starting to realize that something was wrong.

This didn't do anything but escalate the panic of the crowd. Then again, it could have been the spotlights shining off the brow ridges and fangs that did it.

In the floor, several clubbers were singled out by the rest of the roving demons, and rounded up in front of the stage. A few lone vampires that had been out hunting on their own decided to join the party, vamping out on their very surprised dance partners.

In the shadows by the staircase, Marion and Willow watched with trepidation, but not much panic. The Watcher pulled out her cell phone. 

"Looks fairly organized," she quickly assessed the uselessness of trying to take them all down. "We'll require back-up," she said, pressing three.

"Looks like we've found our army," Willow replied.

"Not all of it," Marion said with the phone dialing at her ear. "Probably a provisions team out for snacks. Birdie!" she said when the other end picked up. "Get down to the Bronze, and bring all the weaponry you can carry. I count at least--"

"11"

"--eleven vamps, in an organized attack. Alright. Good." She hung up. Willow had pulled the stake from her purse, and was palming it, weighing her options. Marion did the same, scanning the room to find the best place to strike. 

And then someone else walked onstage.

"Oh, fuck," she breathed. She yanked Willow back into the shadows. 

"Wha--" she looked towards the stage, where a petite, leather-clad blonde had just taken the mic.

"Oh, damn."

"Your girl really doesn't mess around when she embraces the dark side," Marion agreed. A lot of the Bronzers had identified Buffy as 'the one that makes the weird bad things stop' and had relaxed slightly. She favored the crowd with a bright smile.

"Good evening. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm the-thing-you-pray-to God-isn't-really-in-your-closet, otherwise known as Anne, and these," she waved a hand to indicate the other vampires, each of which had at least one person held captive, "are human corpses animated by demonic entities, which survive by drinking the blood of living humans. Or recently deceased humans, doesn't really matter." 

She shrugged endearingly. "I guess the point I'm trying to make here-" she smirked, all endearing qualities evaporated, "is that the more you struggle, the sooner you'll become recently deceased."

@ @ @

Birdie set the phone down in the cradle, careful not to make any more cracks in the headset, then ran for the training room. She grabbed a duffle bag and threw axes, crossbows, stakes, holy water, crosses into it, yanked the zipper, and ran back for the door. She paused, hand on the knob, then ran back and grabbed one last double~bladed axe. 'Kay. Ready.

But before she could get out the door, said door chimed. _Shit. Not now. _

"Sorry, we're just clo--" she stopped.__

The first thing she noticed was the duster. Brown leather, like a psychiatrist's recliner, well~oiled and smooth. Not as long as Spike's - the jacket that until two seconds ago had held her heart-- it fell to just below the knees. Around this point, Birdie realized she should be asking certain questions, such as "_Who's knees?"_

She adjusted her focus to include the owner of said coat. Oriental, with chin-length black hair feathered and tipped in green. She was standing in the doorway, bell still wobbling softly. With _luggage_. 

That was a sign. Good or bad, too soon to tell.

"Uh..." Birdie said intelligently.

"I am at a Magic Box?" the newcomer asked, in heavily~accented English.   
Birdie recognised the accent. "Yes," she answered in Thai. "We were just closing. Can I help you with anything quickly?"

The girl blinked brown, almond-shaped eyes, made-up in green, in surprise, but recovered quickly. "I'm looking for Marion Krumpht," she replied, also in Thai. After a pause, she added, "Or Rupert Giles, I suppose, but preferably Miss. Krumpht."

The Watchers.

Luggage.

Young woman.

_Duster_.

Birdie did some quick math. It all added up to 'Slayer.'

. . .

Shit. Why now?

She waved vaguely at the air in front of her, as if that would help. Considering she was still holding the battle axe, probably not.

"Um, okay. You've come to the right place. Don't go anywhere. Really. One of 'em'll be by in a second. Or two. I just have to go..." She swung the axe a bit, edging towards the door. 

"Just sit tight. And, uh, don't steal anything."

She left, and ran off down the street.

Petchra Niratpattanasai blinked after her. She stood in the middle of the store, surrounded by luggage, as Birdie's footsteps disappeared into the distance.

@ @ @

"Let's see..." Buffy wandered across the stage to the vampire holding the band's frontman. "Hey, handsome. Wanna dance?" she said. Before he could answer, she grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him over to the mic. He seemed mildly surprised by his inability to fight off this normal looking, tiny, woman, but most of that wa pushed aside to make way for mind numbing terror. It likes its elbow room, after all. He didn't struggle all that much.

"What the hell is she doing??" Willow hissed. She gripped the stake, ready to dart forward. 

Marion put a hand on her arm. "That won't help."

"But she--! I-! Why does she have to-- She doesn't drink blood!"

"I think this is a 'show them who's in charge' tactic. She'll kill him to prove that she can, and will. Not just to the crowd, but the vampires she's with as well."

And Marion's interpretation seemed pretty dead on as Buffy lightly caressed the rapidly-breathing young man's temples, resting her hands on either side of his head. 

Willow's jaw tensed._ ...One twist...._

The entire Bronze seemed to have the same thought. The vampires watched with interest, the crowd watched with bated breath and dawning horror.

"Now," Buffy whispered, though the microphone picked everything up. "I promise. This'll hurt a lot."

There was a twang and a puff of dust. Buffy whirled to see the dusty air where the vampire nearest her had been standing. In that moment, her victim-to-be was wrenched from her grasp, and she suffered a powerful blow to the stomach.

Too powerful. Her head whipped back up from the floor.

"Well, if it isn't Scarface."

Birdie just hefted the axe, standing between Buffy and the young man slumped, trembling on the floor. The blade glinted in the spotlights with blood and vampire ash sparkling on it like pixy dust. Sort of.

"Get out," she whispered, the microphone, once again, picking up every word. "Take your orthodontia~challenged Klingon friends and leave."

Up till this, Buffy had looked almost ready to worry. But now she hopped up from the floor, obviously not seriously injured, and eyed Birdie.

"Or you'll what? We both know you're no match for me. Let alone me _and_ my new friends."

Birdie adjusted her grip on the axe, and tried to think of something _cool_ to say. The Klingons thing really hadn't come off well. She needed something to stall with until. ...Wait. Back-up wasn't coming. She _was _the back-up. She adjusted her grip again, sliding her foot out into a ready stance. 

"Let's go."

Buffy didn't even bother to brace herself. She just waited for the axe to swing around, angled as a blunt as she knew it would be, and caught it. She wrenched it away from Birdie's hand and whipped it around her, catching the other girl under the chin with the handle. The scarred Slayer stumbled back as little sparkles danced around behind her eyes. 

This time it was Willow who had to keep Marion from rushing forward. The rest of the Bronze watched in tense silence, not sure what was going on, but sensing that their very lives depended on it.

On stage, bathed in spotlights, Buffy watched Birdie almost fall, laughing when she managed to steady herself against the kneeling singer. Willow would later be haunted by the happiness that seemed to radiate from her recently so solemn friend.

"What did you think you'd do, you grotesque _freak?_ You didn't honestly think you could _beat me._ I'm stronger than you'll ever be. You must realize that. I've defeated a _god_. If I die I'll just fuckin' pop back up again! Will you? What life are _you_ on, little girl? If I kill you, will you stay dead, like a good Slayer? Will you know when to give u--_SHIT!"_

Everyone blinked in surprise at the crossbow bolt imbedded in Buffy's bicep, including Birdie. The singer turned to look behind him. Birdie felt his shoulder move under her hand, and turned behind her as well.

Petchra stood there, another bolt already loaded into the shaft of the blackwood bow she aimed at armslength.

"Are you so sure you will rise again?" she asked, shifting the weapon slightly to bring Buffy's upper left chest into the sights. "Perhaps we should test it. Even if you do, I bet it will hurt."

Marion stared. "I don't believe it! I never knew they could be that efficient!"

Willow looked back and forth. "What are you talking about? Who's that?"

Buffy narrowed her eyes at the interloper. She gripped her own upper arm tightly, as blood started to well beneath the fabric of her jacket and drip down her arm to escape at her wrist. "Who the hell are you?"

"Petchra Niratpattanasai. Feel free to call me Petchra when you describe your demise to the other denizens of hell."

Marion grinned. "Another Slayer! That rat-bastard Council actually came through!"

"Another Slayer? Wait! She's going to kill Buffy!

Birdie put out a hand. "Don't kill her yet. We have other plans."

Petchra hesitated, then adjusted the crossbow and fired, spearing Buffy through the thigh.

"Fine. Run away home."

Buffy screamed shortly in new pain, then barked, "Get us out of here! Now!" The vampires abandoned their captives --except for a couple, who'd already trussed them up, and just brought them with, and ran for the door. The other that had been onstage with Buffy grabbed her into his arms. As he ran with her for the backstage exit, she pulled a lighter from her pocket, lit it, and hurled it at the bar.

Which exploded as large amounts of alcohol ignited.

@ @ @

The explosion, subsequent dousing of water from the automated sprinkler system, and hordes of panicking people effectively stopped Birdie and Petchra from following the party. Marion and Willow attacked the inferno with fire extinguishers and containment spells.

Onstage, Petchra and Birdie eyed each other with new respect.

"You are a Slayer?" the newcomer asked, reverting to Thai. The sprinkler system rained down upon them, and Birdie pushed dripping hair out of her eyes. "Yeah. So are you."

"I am a Slayer."

"Thanks. For helping out."

"Not a problem. What was she? Not a vampire."

"No. Not a vampire. Another Slayer."

"Another Slayer?"

"What's a Slayer?"

Both looked down, startled, at the lead singer, who was now looking at them both with polite curiosity. He stood carefully on the water-slicked floor and shook his hair out. "Thanks for the assistance."

"Uh, no problem," Birdie said slowly. "Um, and you are?"

"Jagger. I'm a musician."

"Ah. Good?"

@ @ @

Shockingly enough, I _am_ working on this story! I just keep writing little fragments from later chapters. I just can't seem to get the hang of writing them in order. But I think I'm getting back in the groove. Don't expect updates more frequently than once a week unless you're some kind of masochist.

~Star Mouse 


	24. A Rose by any other name would be a Gerb...

@@@

Xander sighed impatiently as the cell phone he had to his ear rang the other end. He looked over his shoulder back into the bar. _Where's Anya with that ice?_ His face hurt like a mother, and he didn't need a mirror in a gross Spanish barroom toilet to know it was swollen and lots of pretty colors. _I just hope Giles appreciates my espionage skills._

The phone _finally_ picked up.

"Hello?"--

But not a voice he expected. 

"Uh, hello." _What's going on?_

"Hello? Oh, you have reached the Magic Box. How can we heal yo-- Help you?"

Xander took the phone from his ear and stared at it in confusion for a second, as if that would make this strange person answering the Magic Box phone someone he knew. He _always_ got one of the gang when he called the Magic Box. No one else had any business answering the phone. He put it back to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello! Can. I. Help. You?"

"Do you work there?"

"No.Yes. Yes, I do."

"Really. Who hired you?" _Anya's going to have a coronary if Giles started hiring.  
_  
"Um, ...that's none of your freakin' business." 

This was said in a polite and conversational tone, and Xander mouthed a silent '_What?'_ to the air before asking, "Is there anyone else there I could talk to?"

There was a pause, and he was almost positive the phone had been covered. The strange person came back on. "No, but I can take a message, if you like." 

Xander sighed. He saw Anya coming out of the bar with wet towels and a glass of ice. _What a goddess. _"Sure. Just tell the people who hang out in the back that Xander called from Spain and he found the guy they're looki--"

"...Xander....Spain....fou--Hey!"

"Hello? Xander?"

"Birdie?" Xander shot Anya a grateful smile as she settled beside him on the wrought iron bench and started dabbing his bruised jaw with the towel. God, that felt good. "Bird, who was that?"

"Petchra. New Slayer. We're training her to take shifts, since she needs a steady job to stay legal in the States."

"You mean you actually hired her?"

Anya stopped dabbing. "Hired? In my store?"

"Uh, hold on, Ahn. Just let me--"

"No!" she flopped the towel into the glass of ice and set them down. "Is someone back there in hell hiring people to work in my store, or what?"

Xander panicked. "Birdie, I'm gonna pass you off." He tossed the phone to his wife and picked up the glass, resting it against his cheek.

"Now what's this about hiring? Who exactly gave you the authority--? . . . Another Slayer? Really?..That's beside the point. ...Well _you_ don't have a job. ...They pay you? How much? ....Per mission, or on a base monthly? ...Commission's a scam. You need to negotiate a dual--... Oh, really? That's pretty good. Travel expenses included? Is it set or based on local standards?..."__

Xander rolled his eyes. Wrathful, yes. Easily-distracted? Very yes. He tapped her on the shoulder with the glass. "Tell 'em what we found out."

In the Magic Box, Birdie heard the door chime and turned to see Spike walk through. She waved acknowledgement and went back to explaining her pay system to Anya as Spike wandered over to Petchra.

"Hey, cutie."

The Slayer narrowed her eyes. She glanced at Birdie. The scarred girl had mentioned something about an allied demon, and she didn't seem to mind the vampire that had just walked past her, so it probably would be best not to stake on sight with this one.

"Hello," she tried.

"Who might you be?"

"Petrchra Niratpattanasai. A Vampire Slayer." She stressed this last part a bit, to gauge his reaction.

The vampire raised an eyebrow, mouthing the lengthy name. "'Nother one, huh? Back in my day, there was only one of the little Amazons. Market's saturated, now." He leaned back on the counter. "Which one're you, then? When were you called?"

"Nearly a year ago," she said, puzzled by his ease of posture in the presence of not one but _two_ Slayers.

"Ah," he nodded. "That'd be the gunshot wound, then. Hardly counts, in my opinion. Slayer'd barely been out a second. Those mystical powers are pretty quick on their feet to pick that one up."

"Who are you?" Petchra asked.

"Name's Spike, the White Hat formerly known as William the Bloody," he said off handedly, listening in on Birdie's explanation of her travel allowances.

To his right, Petchra was wracking her brain. _William the-- Wait a second._

"_You're_ William the Bloody, Scourge of Europe?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Heard of me, then."  
  
"But, but you've killed thousands!"

A look flittered across his sharp face. "That I have. Bloody hands, mine. Wreaked havoc in a world tour for over a century."

Petchra stopped sputtering, seeing the discrepancy. "And now you are standing calmly in a magic store in California, in the company of two Slayers?"

"Ironic, innit?"

At that point, a continent away, Xander had finally gotten through to Anya, and she relayed the so dearly earned gossip.

Birdie wrinkled her brow. "Dorjan Vadas? What kind of a name is that?"

"Hungarian," Spike whispered. 

Birdie turned to look at him. He had an expression of utter shock, and he was frozen as an ice sculpture. She shared a nervous glance with Petchra. 

"Spike?"

He shook himself. "Gimme the phone, Shredder. That can't be right. 'S no way."

He grabbed the handset away from Birdie. "Anyanka? You're info's shit. Dorjan Vadas' been dead for seventy years. .... What are you talking about? Of _course_ he was. Surely you remember that debacle with the steam cruiser, early thirties? It's all anyone in the realm could talk about for weeks... Yeah, that. ... Yes, it was. No, it was the same guy. He did that job near the Great Wall twenty years earlier, too. *Sigh* Yes, Anyanka, _that_ Vadas. ... Calm down. You're not the one in the same state as 'im. But what makes you think... Oh, bugger. Are you sure? You actually saw it? ... How the bleedin' hell do you recognise 'is clan tattoo but not remember who he is??"

Petchra and Birdie watched warily. The Thai Slayer bit her lip. "What is going on?"

"I have no idea. But I'm starting to get worried. He doesn't usually get this freaked. Actually, _ever_ get this freaked." She eyed the vampire. If possible, he'd gotten paler during the phone conversation. He abruptly hung up, and stood staring at the countertop.

The Slayers shared another glance. "Spike?" Birdie hazarded. "Who is it?"

Spike licked his lips. He turned his head to face them with slightly wide eyes. "Dorjan Vadas. The man made Angelus and the Scourgettes look like jaywalkers. I thought for sure he was dead. No one's really heard anything from 'im since the thirties. He was doing this thing on a steamship that sank. Everyone kind of assumed he went down with it. But Demon-Girl's seen his clan tattoos around Madrid."

"Where the vampires left for here."

"Yeah. Probably left a few behind in the rush."

He was biting his lip again. It made Birdie want to run screaming from the room to see the snarky monochrome vampire so worried. Petchra didn't even really know his personality yet, and se looked pretty close to bolting.

"What should we do?"

For a second, Spike managed a smirk, but his eyes were elsewhere. "Hear India's lovely this time of year." He ran a hand through his hair. "Nothing we can do about him until we confirm it really is him, and even then, I don't know. First priority's still getting the big gun back." He seemed to shake most of the shock off, and straightened. "How's the Watchers doing on that?"

"They're trying the depossesion spell from _Greiman's_ with Willow as we speak. No high hopes, but at least we'll have narrowed our options a little."

Spike's brow knit. "Red? Looked like a pretty dark spell for an addict to run. Sure hope they know what they're getting themselves into."

@ @ @

_Okay. You can do this. Just breathe. ...Why would that help? IT's not like oxygen's going to make the bad evil go away, like in those hypnotism shows when they tell you to breath in the good stuff and breathe out the bad, and it's like bubbles or something. Is it? I've never actually --"_Willow!"

Willow jerked out of her internal monologue, and pressed the rosemary-filled pouch to the pillar candle in front of her, snuffing it in a cloud of incense. Marion shot her a look, and started chanting again. Giles hadn't stopped, and flicked cherry powder into the little brazier in front of him, monotonously reciting. The two vastly different British accents complemented each other, and it sounded neat. After a few seconds composing herself, Willow joined in with them.

"...creature of evil; take not sanctuary in vessel. Begone from the vessel you have stolen. Creature of evil begone. Begone from the stolen vessel. Itae yo tanial. Tanae ve itae. Itail voy tanae. San. Saal. Sanal. San saal sanal. Sansan salanalanal..."

In it's terra-cotta bowl --okay, flowerpot; Home Depot, $1.49-- the cinnamon sticks started smoking. As she focused on the tendrils of brown smoke, Willow felt the power rise. And it was black.

_No. Oh, no._ She felt it. Way too familiar. She shot a panicked glance across the chalked circle to Giles and Marion, but the Watchers seemed unaffected. Before she could try to stop the spell, she was sucked back in.

And for a moment she didn't care. Because it felt _good._ Like drugs and coffee and lightning in the core of herself. So good. _...Way too good to be true. _ Promises of power and words of force ricocheted around her head and so much deeper. And she felt herself listening to them, even as she struggled to pull out of the trance. Too bright, too beautiful, colored in bruises and blood that made it seem like there could be nothing better. _This is wrong_ She reminded herself.

And a voice sounding suspiciously like her own was whispering inside her ear, pointed outwards.

_Wrong? How? Who chooses right and wrong? What's the difference? If I use it against bad guys, what's the problem? Fire with fire, Willow. You can help them if you just take it. It's right there. _

And it was. Glowing inside her eyelids, like some cosmic fire birthed at the heart of a star, sucked at by blackness but licking merrily at infinity with tentacles of gold and light.__

No one can see it but you, can they? Blind, they are. You can save them from anything with it. It's yours for the taking. Like fruit from the branch. All yours. Just say yes...

"...yes..."

Marion looked up from the flame when Willow dropped out of the chant. _What the bloody..._ "Willow-" She was glowing with the rainbow lights of gasoline sheen on water. "Willow? What's happening?" Giles looked up, too, but she motioned him to keep chanting.

"...yes..."

"Yes? Yes what? Willow! Wake up!" Her brow furrowed as she watched the redhead's aura pulse. She didn't quite break the trance, though, just in case this was something with the spell. Just in case they were close...

"...yes.........ye-No. No! NO!!"

That did it. Marion stomped out the candle on her way lunging across the circle. She grabbed the screaming Willow by the shoulders and shouted into her face.

"Will! Wake up! Caeeris ka!"

Willow's eyes snapped open, and she gasped. "No."

"No wot? Willow!"

"Marion?" She focused on her for the first time. She mutely shook her head until she found her voice. "It, it, no, _I_ almost, I _did_, but--"

"Breathe, baby. You're out. Nothing can take you now. You're safe. Can you tell me what happened?" Giles reached them, and he and Marion shared a panicked glance.

"The spell's too dark. I'm too ...weak, I nearly. It was calling me, but it wasn't the spell it was _me_. _I."_

Giles cut off her frantic babbling, using the voice guaranteed to cut through the panic. 

_"Willow._ What _happened?"_

She swallowed. "It's not the magic," she whispered. She turned her head and tearful eyes to the woman holding her. "Marion, it's not the magic. It's all in _me_. I warped it. The dark's in me."

@ @ @

"Birdie?"

At the sound of the weak voice, Birdie tossed the People magazine in the chair and rushed to the bedside. "Dawn? Finally coming out of it?"

"Uh. Feel like I've spent weeks .*yawn*..asleep."

"Couple days. They kept you under to ease the pain. How is it?"

"I hurt..."

"That would be the broken arm and collarbone. They found internal bleeding, but it's stopped now."

"Buffy did this."

"No. Not Buffy. The demon."

Dawn looked at her with big, bloodshot eyes. "Are you sure?"

Birdie frowned. "What do you mean?"

Dawn blinked a couple times. "She rejected me. In the spell. She wouldn't let me in. I saw her, and she turned her back. It wasn't the demon, it was _Buffy._ Buffy didn't want me to save her." She rubbed her eyes. "Why wouldn't she let me save her?"

Birdie tried to think of some explanation. "I have no idea," she finally copped out. "Except, Buffy's never needed someone to save her before, has she? Maybe she needs practice. Maybe it's a hard thing for her to let someone else solve her problems for her."

"I don't think that's it," Dawn tried to shake her head, but stopped with a grimace and a weak tug at her neck brace. "I just don't think we're close enough. We're the same blood, but we're not alike enough. I've never understood her, Birdie. How can I expect to navigate her mind if I don't get her? I was stupid to think I could help."

Birdie shoved the ideas conjured by the teenager's description to the side and went into comfort mode. "Dawn. Just because a spell rejects you doesn't mean you're useless. You've been helping more and more. Patrolling, researching, running the shop for Anya? You're doing great."

Dawn just nodded, or tried to. "Yeah. I'm very helpful. I'm Helpful Girl. But I can't save her, so it really doesn't matter." A few more tears dripped down, and her chin trembled a bit, but she refrained from an all-out crying fit. The time for those was past.

Birdie looked up as the door opened. Petchra entered, bearing Gerber daisies. Dawn's brow wrinkled.

"Who are you?"

The Thai woman smiled nervously. "Petchra. These are for you."

Dawn looked over at Birdie.

"Slayer," she offered.

"Ah. Thanks," she said, taking the bright pink flowers. "Where're you from?"

As Dawn grilled the newcome Slayer, Birdie slipped out of the room. A plan was forming, and she wasn't sure she liked it.

@ @ @

She found Spike in the cemetery, whirling in the center of a circle of relative fledglings who seemed to be exploding into dust in a cycling pattern. She watched, not sure whether she should interrupt the therapy session, as he finished off the last of them, and whirled his sharpened bat a few times through empty air, working through the inertia.

"You're quiet," he said, seemingly randomly. "But your scent gives you away every time, Shredder,"

_Ah. Talking to me, then._ "Why did you start calling me that a couple days ago?"

"Just thought of it then. You wanted something, or care to try another heart-to-heart? Chat over a mug of blood, kinda thing?"  
  
Birdie focused, with a little difficulty. She kept trying to make the connection between her and the Ninja Turtles villain. "Actually, I wanted to talk about Buffy," she replied, trying to sound smooth. 

"Oh," Spike said. "Goodie."

"She loves you."

"Know it. Been there. Sucks for her." 

"Dawn says Buffy rejected her in the mind-diving."

Spike stopped short. "What do you mean?"

"She thinks that it doesn't matter how close she is to Buffy physically. It's the personality and person kemself that needs to match. Someone who can read Buffy like a book. Someone who she won't turn out. Someone who shares a common bond with her, who has gone through similar experiences."

"So you go in already," he offered. "If it has to be another Slayer, why aren't you already lighting candles and such?"

"You, Spike. I was talking about you," Birdie said, frustrated. "She loves you. She trusts you. She's fighting a demon like you do everyday. You can obviously tell what she's thinking like a mind reader on- on psychic steroids--" Spike raised an eyebrow at the analogy, "-- and you could be the only one that can save her."

Spike chewed on the inside of his cheek for a bit. "I'll think about it," he finally said. He started walking off. "Not so sure."

@ @ @

  
_I'll get you, you meddling kids._

_Great. Now they've turned me into a Scooby Doo villain._ Buffy furiously rewrapped her leg. It was nearly healed, after two days, but she kept reopening the one on her arm. The bandage there was bloodstained already. __

"Damn white hats," she hissed, pouring alcohol over the puncture. She wasn't an idiot, after all. Infection is an ugly thing.

"Congratulations, Anne. You've been bested by, the cast of Friends, was it?"

She looked up at the man in the doorway. Or the rock formation that served as a doorway. "Bite me, Vadas," she said brightly.

He put his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. "Perhaps later. I trust your wounds are healing well?" He watched as she removed the bandage from her arm.

"Impressive resilience. It's nearly closed."

"Yeah, well," Buffy said off-handedly, dousing the soiled bandage in alcohol and pressing it to the wound.

"It would appear that these college drop-outs are more of a threat than you thought."

"Yeah. Who'd have thought they could accomplish anything on their own?"

_So I was right,_ he noted. _She _does_ have a connection to them._ "Perhaps it would be best to eliminate the threat now, rather than waiting for the rest of the forces to come into town."

"Why? The Spaniards should be here in a week or so. Why not wait until we have more pawns to waste?"

"Because I don't intend to waste my pawns on something like this. We'll need them all to make war with the things from the _Tarmac_."

"Yeah, yeah." Buffy ripped a strip from a nurse's uniform (the nurse wouldn't need it anymore) and wrapped it around her bicep. 

Dorjan Vadas eyed her a moment. "I want you to take them out. Are any of them versed in interdimensional portals?"

Buffy cocked an eyebrow. "How would I know?"

"I know you do."

"...One of the Watchers would."

"Bring them to me."

Buffy stood up. "Undamaged?"

"Merely able to speak will be fine. You needn't do it tonight, though. Get some rest. Heal."

"Will do. Tomorrow, I go shopping.

@ @ @

  
  
Know I love them good down-home reviews.

~Star Mouse 


	25. I swear she's doing it on purpose

Uh, in case anyone cares, I have switched the catagory thingy on this from "Romance/Humour" to "Drama/Romance" because, well, it's really not very funny, and the romance has kinda taken a back seat so far. Sorry if you feel used or cheated by false advertising.

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

"Willow. Are you sure you're alright?"

Willow nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine. I'll just keep looking for more spells and stuff. Do you guys need anything?"

Marion and Spike looked at each other. "'S all set up?" he asked. 

The Watcher nodded. "We're doing the same spell, so we'll just use what we've already prepared."

Willow started. "Oh! Did you get the sachet back from Giles before he left for the bar? I can make another one, really quick. It's just some herbs and a focusing crys--"

"Willow. We have the sachet. You do have it, right, Spike?"

"'S in my pocket. Let's get on. See ya, Red." He left the store, but Marion hung back. She hesitantly put a hand to Willow's face.

"You're sure you're alright?"

Willow scoffed. "Oh, yeah! It happens all the time. Really." She met Marion's eyes, and bit her lip. "It's just, ah, that's the closest I've come in a while. To letting it take me. Or letting _me_ take me, as the case may be. I'm still trying to figure that one out," she admitted, her confident tone gradually fading. "I'm just sorry I can't help any more than this." After a brief pause, she put her own hand to Marion's cheek.

Marion smiled. "This should only take an hour or two. When we get back, we'll need to start working on protection spells for the houses and apartments. In the meantime, do you think you can handle a surface scrye, or a demonic activity reading? Good, clean magic."

Willow smiled brightly. "Oh, definitely! I can start right now. It's convenient being in a magic shop, and all. Everything's right here. Y'know, I usually use the _Etia_ pattern, but I've been hearing good things about the _Clau_ from my online wicca groups, so I think I'll try that one--" She stopped babbling suddenly, because it was hard to talk with Marion kissing her like that.

After a few busy seconds, the Brit pulled back. "I'll see you later."

"Uh huh," Willow nodded dumbly. "Later."

@ @ @

Foreign currency was slapped down on the counter. Giles blinked at it., then looked blandly up at the vampire attached to it.

"I'm afraid we don't take pesantos here," he said.

"Qúe? No hablas español?"

"Quiero volver a españa," the wiry one beside him muttered.

"Estamos resistiendo," The one to the right said, reaching over the one with the money to shove the dissenter back from the bar.

As more of what he realised were members of a large group joined in the debate, Giles felt a sinking in his stomach. One name was repeated several times. Vadas. These were the Spanish vampires. There were twenty at least in the bar, and Xander and Anya had said there were many more.

And they were here.

@ @ @

_When it rains, it comes in buckets._

@ @ @

Spike watched the flickering flame for any signs of 'an eldrich blue glow'. He glanced at the chanting Watcher across from him. 

"'S it working?"

She shook her head. "...be repelled from the vessel you have taken, begone from this stolen sanctuary..."

Spike rolled his eyes. "If it's not working, then why the hell are we still doing it?"

Marion drew her brows together. "Because, jackass, it might star--Oh, bleedin' nora!" She realizes she'd stopped chanting to insult him when the flame in the cinnamon went out like a little light. "You arse! You've botched it all up!"

"_I_ did?? 'S not like it was even working!"

"Oh, damn." She threw down the crystal she'd been holding. "We'll have to start over now."

"Oh, come _on_." Spike stood, brushing cherry dust from his jeans. "You know damn well this isn't going to do any good. We may as well try our luck at a different spell."

Marion sighed. "I suppose you're right," she admitted. She surveyed the supplies they had brought. "It looks like we have most of the things we need for that one in ...uh, the big blue book with the bloodstain on the cover." She weighed the baggie of herbs. "Except we'll need more of these thorny ones with the spiky leaves."

"Gosh, all that big Watcher talk's got me all confused. Could you bring that down to laymen's terms?"

"Bite me, Spike."

He smirked, grabbing his duster off the floor. "If only, Punkass. I'll go fetch the bloody book and the spiky plants. Just be a mo."

"Thank you," she called. With a sigh, she set about cleaning up and cleansing the area, so there wouldn't be any residue to interfere with the next spell.

"Fancy seeing you here."

She froze.

_Oh, God, no._

Marion turned slowly, trying not to shake. Trying to hide the fact that she was shaking. 

The Slayer smiled. "Hey!" she said brightly. 

Marion dumbly nodded acknowledgement. _Oh, no. I'm panicking. I'm not panicking. Why aren't I panicking? This is the perfect time to panic._

Buffy craned her head to take in the whole setup. The candles, the bowl, the chalked markings on the floor.

"Wow. Pretty elaborate for a dabbler, huh?" She raised an eyebrow at the watcher. "Planning on a party?"

Marion silently shook her head. Speech had escaped her. She just kept thinking of that amazing strength. That _terrible_ strength. She'd seen Buffy snap the heads off Bailae twice her size. More importantly, she'd seen her come _this_ close to snapping the head off a musician who now had a date with Birdie scheduled for next Friday.

Buffy crossed her arms in front of her. "So what exactly are you trying to do here?" she asked, all polite curiosity.

Marion found her voice. "I'm trying to save you," she whispered.

Like blonde lightning, Buffy was suddenly at her throat, gripping much more tightly than could be called comfortable.

"No," she hissed back, abandoning all pretence. "You're trying to _trap _me. Trying to _kill_ everything about me that _they_ don't like. Trying to kill_ me again_."

Marion just stared, wide-eyed, back into the terrifyingly bright mad hazel eyes mere inches from her own. Buffy sneered. It was an ugly thing. It had no place on that face. The happy grins fit better.

"You really don't have any idea, do you? None of you people do. You can't.

"What I've lived with," she continued, in full-on villain rant mode, still with a choke hold around Marion's neck. "You Watchers are playing with fire-- no. You _think_ you're playing with fire. You're messing with fucking _dynamite!_ You're stupid to think Slayers can be pure. We're not _light_, sweetheart_._ We're--" a strange smile twisted her lips, "--we're it's antithesis. Light isn't the opposite of darkness. Light's just the _absence_ of darkness. Slayer's-- _we're_ the opposite. And to truly be something's opposite, you have to be _way_ closer to it that you want to be."

She tightened her grip, and Marion started seeing black edges. "But you don't care. The Council sits on its ass and lets its good little supersoldiers fight the war. You know what?"

She got even closer, so Marion had trouble focusing on her face. Or maybe that was the getting oxygen cut off doing it. The Slayer's grip was getting tighter by the second. She weakly tried to bat away a hand like iron. Buffy smiled, slipping back into the endearing demeanor of earlier.

"It's okay. Honestly? I wouldn't have it any other way. Just making a few observations. Might want to think about them, when you wake up."

And then everything in Marion's world went the absence of light.

@ @ @

_And then the buckets turn to tubs, and the torrents go on._

@ @ @

"Hello?"

"Red? Somethin's happened. I need you to focus for me."

@ @ @

'Ungh..." _Dark. Wait, blindfold. Oh, dear Lord, my head feels like it's in a vice. Oh, bugger, I think it _is _in a vice. What the bloody--?_

"Oh, good. You're awake." Marion felt steel at her throat, and a groan caught in her trachea.

"Buffy?" she whispered, trying not to move her neck.

"Very good deduction. But can you guess how quickly I can kill you dead?" The knife pinched a touch deeper, and Marion could feel nicked skin sting. "Or more accurately, how slowly?"

The Watcher gulped. This couldn't be happening. This was not a good way for a Watcher to die. ...Despite how terribly poetically just it was. Killed by a Slayer. Not even _her_ Slayer.

"You want me for something," she shook out.

"Gee, you _are_ smart." The knife slid along the exposed front of her throat, just barely slicing the first thin layers of skin over her Adam's apple. The kind of shallow cut that leaves a raised welt, but doesn't bleed. But the knife's proximity had Marion breathing shallowly, at the edge of hyperventaliating. 

"But actually you're wrong. _I_ don't want you for anything. I couldn't care less if you were dead right now." Her voice turned thoughtful. "...It'd be _so_ easy, you know. Just one slice, leave you bleeding on the floor... One less manipulative rat in the world. But my new boss, he would like your assistance..."

"Vadas."

"Ding ding ding." The knife slid up near her ear, and she gasped when it sliced down into the skin at her jaw. _That_ would draw blood. _I'm going to end up looking like Birdie...Heh. We'll match._ "Vadas would kindly like you to share with us any information you might have on interdimensional portals. I know you want to assist him in any way possible. Or, on the other hand, maybe you just want _one_ nostril."

And that was when Marion realised that she wouldn't talk. That she really _would_ rather die than betray the world to these people. That she could hold out as long as she had to, no matter _how_ terrified she was.

"Well, it would make for more efficient respiration," she said, turning her head in the direction of Buffy's voice.

There was a pause. The knife moved away from her ear. 

Then: "Well, if you're so eager..." And she felt the blade at her {what's the piece between the nostrils called? ---Star Mouse}

Marion bit her lip. And then she screamed.

@ @ @

_And then the rain turns to shit, and we're all knee deep in it._

@ @ @

"I'm not panicking. I'm just, I'm thinking strongly about the fact that we have no way to locate her!"

"Petchra and I can go beat some people up. Surely something will talk."

"No point, Shredder. If the locals knew anything, I would have heard it by now. Trust me."

"Well we have to do something!"

"Red, breathe. Punkass's a tough nut. She won't crack easy." 

"But what's Buffy doing to her?"

"Willow! It's _not_ Buffy!"

"I can't take this! I'm doing the spec-locator."

"Damn it, Red, siddown! That could push you over the edge, state of mind you're in. Marion does _not_ want you to do that! Giles is on his way over. She can damn well wait six minutes!"

"How do you _know?! How the hell can you possibly know that!?"_

"I'm off. I can't take all this _bloody screaming!"_

"Spike! Where are you going??"

"Hospital. Tell the Bit what's going on. Let the new girl off vigil for a bit. 'S probably okay to bring the Bit home anyway. You: stay with 'er 'til the Watcher gets here. And do _not_ let her near those books!"

@ @ @

"Hey there, Nirat. You're off Dawn~duty. Get your ass over to the Magic Box. Now."

"What--?"

"Buffy took Marion. Now get."

@ @ @

"I'm here!"

"Thank God, Giles! Everything's set up. Hurry!"

"Willow, do not panic."

"Why the hell does everyone keep telling me that?!"

_"I _don't want that kind of negative energy influencing the casting. As for ever--wait. This isn't a location spell setup..." He said, looking over the materials arranged on the floor.

"No. You're going to summon her here before that bitch can touch her. And I'm going to help."

@ @ @

"Home sweet home."

"Ugh. I hate hospitals. Have I mentioned that?"

Spike smirked. "That you have. I hope you don't mind, but I've got to go back to the store, check on--Red? What are you doing here?"

Willow scowled. "Giles kicked me out. He and Birdie are doing the spell. He said he'd call..." she waved the phone --basepiece included-- clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

"Uh _huh_. Bit, how're ya feeling?"

"Trashed. Take me to bed."

"Yes, princess. Red, I'll be right back."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He glanced at the phone in her hands. It looked about ready to crack open.

"I really believe that."

@ @ @ @ @

Insert pleas for feedback here.

~Star Mouse 


	26. Gimme that old time religion

This chapter continues directly after the last one left off, despite appearances.

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

_Shit._

She saw the searchlights falling at her feet. 

_Shitshit_. 

At least they were still _behind_ her. She tried not to concentrate on the horribly loud clacking of chains on cement as she sprinted down the sidewalk. The manacals weighted her ankles and wrists. As her arms swung, the chains whipped her forearms, stinging, surely leaving welts. 

Damn, but it was _loud._ Those cheery _chshinkschink_ noises, her own ragged breaths, her panicking, adrenaline~hyped heart, a car alarm in the distance. And engines at her rear.

With a nearly animalistic growl, she veered into an alley. 

That ended fenced and dead.

_Pure terror._ The terror that makes a cornered housecat attack a pack of coyote. It suddenly shot through her system, leaving a feeling all too familiar for her liking. 

_Not this time, dammit. No heroic last stands. _

No matter how fun they are.

She ran dead at the chainlink fence, veered, kicked off the wall with a rubberband twang in her legs, and hit the ground running on the other side. 

Without anything beyond the most cursory of glances at her surroundings, she ran to the left. 

If there was one thing she'd learned by now, it was to _never_ look back. Just run. And she'd been running a long time. 

That was another thing. Whatever happens, don't stop. 

_Never_. . . Stop . . . Running. 

She heard a siren to her left. 

She could run a little further.

Her legs burned. She couldn't f'ing give up _now_. Her chest burned too. There was a stitch in her side and a catch in her shoulder. Her saliva seemed too thick. She hocked a wad into the street, never pausing. As fast as her tired, pumping, chain~weighted legs could carry her, she ran. 

Clear out of the commercial district. Sidestreets and alleys no sane person would still remember this clearly. Into the 'burbs. 'Course, in a town this small, it wasn't as far between the two as it could have been. 

She was all too aware that she sounded like a damn percussion section jogging down the sidewalk of the quiet street, clanging cheerfully past a row of darkened houses. How late was it, anyway? Even the streetlights were gone. Maybe she was safe~. But she didn't look behind her, just kept on, occasionally checking the addresses on the mailboxes. 

_1608_. . . 

She wiped her palms on the pants of her awful, state~issue ensemble. What she wouldn't give for something _not _orange~~ but later. 

_1612 . . . _Right now she just had to concentrate on the numbers. Let small goals pull her ever forward. 

_1618 . . . _She had to be here. This God~forsaken place was calling her blood, like some mystical pull. Also, there was a coded letter tucked into her bra strap. She liked that better. More real. There was nothing specific in it. Just the address and a due~by date. All she knew for sure was that something bad was going down. It would have to be, for them to call _her_ for help. 

_1624. . ._ it was close. And so was she, to passing out from exhaustion. She'd never done that before. But the interstate had been hell on her bare feet.

. . . 

...She stared blankly at the incoming mailbox, images of a small, blonde, and all~too~prudish warrior flashing through her mind. _Don't think about that. _

_Just get up the damn driveway.   
_  
She lurched up the steps to the porch like the walking dead, tripping over her chains and her own f'ing feet. The panic returned, domesticated and shrill. She~ she had to wait. She couldn't do this now. Go get some sleep and a shower and some _leather_. Come back tomorrow~ Even as her head screamed at her to turn back now, she stumbled across the porch, falling over the welcome mat-- which, she might've noticed at some other time, didn't actually _say_ welcome.

She fell against the door, elbow braced against the push button of the bell. Through walls and the pounding in her head, she heard the faint, oh~so~irritating buzzing of the doorbell within the house. Then-- footsteps. 

She squeezed her eyes shut. She looked like shit and knew it. Prison drag, no make~up, eau de Olympic runner . Not exactly the way she'd planned her second first impression, but it couldn't be helped. 

_Oh, shit._

The door swung out from under her. She didn't even try to catch herself as she fell against the floor within the threshold. She looked blearily up at a shocked~looking guy with white~blonde hair. _Who the hell?_

She prayed to God that B hadn't moved. '_Course_ she hadn't, you idiot. No one's allowed to move on with their lives, are they? Girl'd probably married the whitebread farmboy and gone off to live in Idaho, or whatever podunk potato state he came from... Dead end. Now what, then?

But _yes! _There was Willow, coming up behind blondie, who was starting to look a little familiar. Willow the smart and geeky, and for some reason holding a table phone in both hands. _Oh well. _ _I'm safe. Do~goodies will make everything okay... _She purposely didn't think about their last meeting.__

She smiled loopily, in the mad grin of the very tired, and felt the walls closing in.

"Safe..." she whispered, and slapped the floor like a kid playing tag would after reaching base. The doors in her brain slammed shut.

Spike stared down at the young woman collapsed dead away halfway through the door. His senses were screaming Slayer, and he, if anyone, knew a Slayer when he smelled her. "What the 'ell--?" He cocked his head at the witch behind him. "Slayer?" he asked. 

"Faith," Willow offered coldly, setting the phone down reluctantly. She edged around him and grabbed the girl under the arms, showing very little compassion at all as she yanked her in the foyer so Spike could close the door. 

"I'm really not sure if this is a good thing or not," she said. "Jeez! Look at this!" The redhead shook one of the unconscious Faith's hand by the wrist, the handcuff chain rattling merrily. "She looks like she just escaped from jail!"

Spike's superman hearing picked up sirens in the distance as he bent to study the snapped ends of the chains. They were the long kind, longer than you get upon arrest. These looked like the ones they cops used when they needed you to be able to walk and piss on your own, but not get far. Made ya' shuffle around. They'd all been snapped through.

The scent of blood caught his attention, and he followed his nose to her. . . bare. . . feet. Blood and tar there. Oil. Dirt. The deep, unfathomly ancient scent of Slayer's blood mingled with the pollutants, darkened and defiled in the worst way. 

There were cuffs on her ankles, also snapped. There were angry red marks on her soles, from stepping down on the hanging chains, and welts on the insteps, from the links whipping round. 

She'd run in the streets. Long enough to tear her feet to ribbons.

"Looks like that's exactly what she did, ducks," he answered. "_Was_ she in the slammer?"

Willow nodded. "In LA, the past few years."  
_  
LA. Surely she didn't..._ What was he saying? She was an f'in' _Slayer_. Of course she did.

"We need to get 'er off the floor, Red." He worked an arm under her thighs, and wove another through the sweaty dark hair under her neck. "And someone should probably do something about those feet, before infection sets in."

Willow glanced at Faith's feet as Spike lifted her into his arms, and gasped at the raw, black~stained flesh. "Oh, shit..." she breathed. 

It was hard to be really bitchy about stuff that had happened five years ago faced with _that. _Willow's worldview quietly skewed a bit, to allow for a Faith in need of help, and she nodded. "I'll nurse. You should probably do some criminal~type handcuff removal." 

Spike snorted, starting up the stairs with his orange bundle. If these people were good at one thing, it was working through pain. They all functioned better with distractions.

Willow went off to the kitchen for the most complete first aid kit. Under her breath she muttered, "Why on this green earth would she come _here_?"

@ @ @

"_Esae lo mivent pau sich. Selvent le esae sichea. Paulan lo siche. Esae..."_

As the Watcher chanted, Birdie watched the candle closely, throwing a pinch of whatever the orange powder she'd been handed was on it whenever the flames showed a hint of green flame. She'd done this before, a little. Her employers were not against magics. Too bad Sanna wasn't here. He could probably be helping somehow. She glanced at Petchra, who was standing on the edge of the circle, frowning into the   
fire. Every now and then, her gaze would flicker to Chanting Giles, before coasting back to the flame. 

Just as the Thai woman turned her eyes to the Watcher, the flames flickered green again. Birdie fumbled for the powder, but stopped when the flames suddenly shifted back to orange. She looked up at Petchra, who was staring intently at the little fire. As Birdie watched, Petchra looked over at Giles, and the flames changed green again.

Birdie frowned. _I wonder what that's about._

Just then, Giles' chanting got louder. The flame shot up, bright green.

In a panic, Birdie dumped the rest of her powder on at once, quenching it as Giles shouted the last word of the spell.

@ @ @

Buffy sighed. "You know, it's no fun when you pass out. The screams are the best part..."

She pulled her hand back to bitchslap the Watcher back into consciousness, but then the ropes went slack. She narrowed her eyes, staring into the piece of space that Marion had just recently vacated.

She quickly recovered from the shock, and stabbed the chair with her knife, to make sure it wasn't invisibility. The blade hit the wood and drove two inches through. 

"What the hell is going on here?" she growled.

@ @ @

*Ding ding*

Grumbling, Spike got up to answer the door.

"Hey, Evil Dead! Guess who's back!" Xander grinned widely.

"Faith?" Spike deadpanned.

"Huh?"

"Faith, the Until Recently Incarcerated Vampire Slayer. She's asleep upstairs."

Xander's face fell. "Huh. Way to steal my thunder."

Spike smirked. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't want your thunder. Where's the bird? Leave her overseas?"

"Anya headed over to the Magic Box to go interrogate that new Slayer you guys illegally hired. She told me to head over here, 'cause she knew I would anyway, and she'd meet me in a few hours."

@ @ @

Faith woke slowly, trying to remember when she'd fallen asleep. Why the bed was so soft. Why her feet hurt like a bitch...

Her eyes snapped open.

The room was in pastels. Said soft bedding was in a feminine floral pattern. The events of the previous days hit Faith like a mac truck.

She was staring at the pile of stuffed animals assembled on the weapons chest in the corner when Willow came in.

"Thanks," she said immediately, to get it out of the way.

Willow set the tray of juice and bandages down on the bedside table. "It's okay. Helping's what we do."

"Yeah."

There followed a few moments of silence, then:

"Did you break out of jail?"

Faith smiled, remembering. "Yeah. _Told_ them all I needed was a reason. _Chains_," she sneered. "Idiots." A bit of the old Faith showed in the sneer, and Willow could imagine the eyeshadow and leather that wasn't really there. 

"What was your reason?"

Faith didn't answer immediately. After another lengthy pause, she said simply, "I was chosen. Again. Summoned. Called out of reserve." She kept staring at the weapons chest covered in plush toys as she fished around in her shirt. She passed the folded note off to Willow.

The witch gingerly unfolded the sweaty piece of paper and scanned the contents. "'1630 Revello Drive' and ...Friday's date. Huh. Talk about your leap of faith..." 

Faith shot her a look, but realized the redhead hadn't even noticed the pun. She turned her head back to the weapons chest, and directed her own question to it.

"Where is she?"

Willow sighed. "There are some things that you should know..."

@ @ @

"... And I'll need your visas and passport, for the records. I can't have an illegal working here. They make things difficult. Have they given you a salary?"

Petchra shook her head mutely, looking to Birdie for help. The scarred Slayer backed away, hands in front of her, ostensibly headed for the phone. Behind her, Giles was checking the pulse rate of a beaten Marion.

This strange blonde woman didn't seem to care about the bruised and bloody body on the research table, though, and continued without encouragement. 

"Well, I'm willing to negotiate on account of your likelihood of saving the world, beginning of course at minimum wage. From what I understand, your room and board is being taken care of..."

"Yes, I'm staying with the Summers'..." Petchra put in.

"Of course you are," Anya said offhandedly. "Now, if you want pay, I expect you to be here from four pm until whenever you patrol each weekday. Saturdays and Sunday you can..."

@ @ @

*Ringringringring*

Willow jumped up from the bed, leaving the slightly shell-shocked Faith behind.

"I have to get this!" She dashed out of the room.

"Who are you talking to, Will?" Dawn, in a lovely coordinating sling, cast and collarbone brace set wandered into Buffy's doorway. Her eyebrows shot up.

"_Faith?"_

Faith waved awkwardly. "Uh, hey. You are?"

Dawn waited a beat. Recognition accosted the Slayer's face.

"Dawn! Sorry, just a brain belch, there. ...Uh, how are you?"

Dawn offered a small smile. "I'm fine."

Willow appeared in the hall behind her. She was gripping her car keys with nearly enough force to bend metal.

"I have to go. I'm going now. It's Marion. Giles got her. It's-- I have to go."

And she went.

@ @ @ @ @ @

  
I desperately need plot-guidance on Of Blondes that Bite and Stab. Seriously, I have no real idea where it's going. I'm not going to update any more until I think of something, because it's silly to just write nonsense that has nothing to do with the plot-- oh, wait.

Also, I've put a couple sketches of my original characters up at my website. It's one of those just-learning-HTML spazoids, but... Actually, there's no 'but.' It's plain weird-looking. But you can find those sketches there (with more to come very shortly, because two isn't a very good selection), as well as a picture of my cool new hair. It's _not_ brown anymore.

~Star Mouse 


	27. Gratuitous Smirking Smurfs, but without ...

  


**Chapter Twenty~Seven: Gratuitous Smirking Smurfs, but without the Smurfs.  
**  
@ @ @  
  
Enjoy the chapter. Review after you read it, so that I know you did. Enjoy it, I mean. And feel free to offer plot suggestions on Of Blondes that Bite and Stab. I've already got this series outlined, so no suggestions are necessary for this one. Thanks, though, Jessica.

~Star Mouse****

  
@ @ @

Xander and Anya at the Magic Box caused such a stir that he _completely_ forgot to warn anyone about Faith.

@ @ @

"...And, in other news, the escaped convict from the women's penitentiary is still at large, though police suspect she may have left the state." 

A black and white mug shot of a dark-haired young woman with round eyes flashed on the screen, and Cordelia blinked at it. Thinking quickly, she pressed the record button on the TV/VCR unit, forgetting her coffee to study the photo on the screen. The picture shrunk and flew into the upper corner of the display, revealing the anchorman at his desk.

"Faith Wilkins is charged with multiple murders, as well as the possession and use of several illegal and unsafe performance-enhancing drugs. The populace is warned to regard her as _extremely_ dangerous, whether Wilkins appears to be armed or not, and to report any sightings to the number at the bottom of your screen." Cleverly, the shot shifted to view the anchorman from the side, and he turned to face the audience before addressing it again. "The Lakers lost last night, in an upset to the..."

"Angel!"

@ @ @

_Those bastards. _*Whump* ..._Or, bitches, I guess? *_Whap* _Whatever. *_Thwackthwack* Damn_ them. I won't only kill them, I'll...*_thumpthumpthumpcrinkcrink* ..._skewer them, gut them, and hang them up by their intestines from the ceiling!_

"Oh, Anne..."

When she heard the singsong voice, Buffy gritted her teeth and threw another whirlwind round of punches. She was training, working out the kinks in her injured arm and leg. Like she always said, demonic possession is no excuse for letting yourself go. Or she would, if she had ever had occasion to use it before now. She landed a few sidekicks, then bounced back on her platforms.

Vadas watched from the doorway. He really should stop her. He'd been set on saving his 'soldiers.' But she looked like she was having so much fun... He stood there as she shot another vicious punch to the trussed up vampire's midsection. It let out a little grunt, through the gag, and involuntarily swung from the chains affixing it to the ceiling. The bag lay in the corner, sand spilling out.

Anne stepped back and headed purposely for the wicked-looking knife stuck in the seat of the chair behind her. Vadas straightened.

"Alright, that's enough. No need to unduly punish others for your own failures."

Buffy ripped the knife from the wood and whirled on him, all flashing green eyes and clenching teeth. "_My_ failures?" She shook her head and the knife. "Uh uh. Why the hell don't _you_ have magic wards up? 'Cause ya know, not having much of a problem with the torture until the tortee goes all Trekkie on me."

The Hungarian gazed placidly at her, and her knife. "There's that displacement again." He pushed the blade aside with an index finger, then wiped his hand against his suit jacket. "Have you seen a psychiatrist?"

The blonde looked about to explode, but instead deflated, dropping her arms to her sides. "_God_, do I need to!" 

"After we take over the world," Vadas asserted. "If there are any good ones left by that point. Now, what do you think we can do in the meantime to gather our information? We'll require considerable knowledge on the subject in order to open the correct portals."

Buffy/Anne/who-the-hell-ever rolled her eyes. "Since it takes about a month for you heliophobics to travel anywhere, we should probably stick to sources in town."

"Good so far," he nodded.

She scowled briefly, on principle, before continuing. "The Watcher I grabbed wasn't talking any time soon, and the freaky redhead will have all sorts of wards over her by now, if I know her."

"And do you?"

"The old guy'll_ never_ talk. Trust me on that one. He's done this kind of thing before," she said, ignoring the question. She twirled the knife and looked thoughtfully into the distance. She wandered over to the chair, swinging the hanging vampire as she passed. She sat down and crossed her legs, still playing with the knife. Vadas watched in mild amusement. 

"The shop would have what we need," she mused, "but we'd never be able to get in. There are still protection spells and stuff up from the last time a hell-bitch tried to open a ga--wait a second."

@ @ @

Faith looked up suddenly when the door opened, and relaxed only slightly when she saw it was that blonde guy from before, carrying towels.

"Spike."

He nodded slightly, setting the towels down on the end of the bed. "Slayer the Second. Nice to make your acquaintance."

Faith looked down. "We've met," she said, then jumped ahead before he could comment. "So, you've become Return of the Souled Vampire Pets: the Sequel, now in Technicolor?"

"I'm no one's pet, most certainly not Buffy's, if that's what you're implying."

Faith looked back up at him, noting the lickable cheekbones. "I heard. Tough break for B."

"'You heard'?"

"Willow. The redhead gave me the skinny on the goings on here."

Spike raised an eyebrow, decided the girl wouldn't mind a little smoke, and pulled a [disgusting, evil, cancer-causing, deathstick] cigarette from the pack in his pocket and set about lighting up. "'S really not her story to tell, now is it? Not sure the Slayer'd appreciate you having all the..." he took a drag, expelling the smoke in the dark Slayer's direction, "...gory details."

"I thought you weren't her pet."

"No, but I do recognise common courtesies."

Then she laughed, full and throaty. "Bullshit. If you had an iota of courtesy, you'd open a damn window before I catch my death of emphysema and early labor."

He rolled his eyes, but moved to open a window, nonetheless. He could get to like this girl. Always did take his women bossy. "Early labor, pet?"

She shrugged. "You know. If I get pregnant in the next few minutes."

He couldn't help the smirk. "Not likely. Though, if you'd like to get out of the prison drag and into something less sweaty, there's a shower down the hall willing to oblige. Red's offered up her wardrobe, but that's all at her apartment at the moment, so you can just grab something from down the hall. Not much leather in the lot, but it should fit you better than anything in the twigs' closets."

Faith had perked at the word 'shower,' and stood, grabbing the towels Spike had brought in moments before. "Who's clothes are they?"

Spike wrapped his lips around his [tobacco-filled, nicotine-riddled, tar spewing] cigarette and, yes, smirked.  
"The next generation."

@ @ @

Willow slammed into the Magic Box, having deposited a loudly protesting Marion on the bed in her apartment. She was met with several surprised faces. Everyone had kind of assumed she'd be keeping a bedside vigil for at least a few hours. No such nurse-maiding. A few quick-yet-effective healing spells, a touch of kissing it better, and she was gone. 

The redhead stalked past Xander and Anya, and right up the stairs to the loft. Giles blinked after her.

"Willow?" She was rifling through the grimoires. He shared a worried glance with Birdie. "Willow, what are you doing?"

She settled on a book, and grabbed several more and a handful of plastic baggies off the endtable before trotting back down the stairs. She met Giles at the bottom and passed off all the books but the first.

"I'm going to try again. Buffy is _not_ going to snatch anyone else while we're sitting here doing nothing. Giles, you and Anya take the non English ones. Xander, Birdie, Petchra, one of you needs to start an inventory. Nearly all possession~type spells require hex-grade stick cinnamon. See how much we have; that'll give us an idea of our margin of error. Everyone else needs to get their nose in a book and sticky note every depossession or cleansing spell they can find. Got it?"

There was silence. Petchra raised her hand. Willow acknowledged her.

"I have no sticky notes," she confessed.

Willow grabbed her purse and pulled out pads of multiple colors. She tossed them at the Slayer, who caught them without blinking.

Willow turned back for the door. Giles jumped forward. "Willow!" She turned back, yet again, clearly annoyed. At least her eyes weren't black. "You are still susceptible to the dark forces. What happened yesterday could happen again. Someone else, _I _should--"

"You and Anya are the only ones that can translate most of the texts. I need you all on research duty, and nothing went wrong with the healing spells I just did. I'll deal. Oh, and someone needs to run to Buffy's house, and get Spike and Dawn to come help, too. The more eyes, the better."

"Can't we just call?" Xander spoke up.

"Broke the phone."

Willow left.

Xander coughed. "Anyone else getting some deja vu?"

Everyone but Anya gave him a blank look, and he realized they were the only ones that had been present last time Willow took command of getting Buffy back.

Birdie grabbed Joyce's car keys, having taken over the largely unused Honda. "I'll go grab Dawn and her pet vampire. Petchra, wanna come?"

Petchra set down the ceremonial skull she'd been fiddling with, and followed her out the door. They got strapped into the car in silence, with only a slight cringe on Petchra's part as Birdie lurched away from the curb before remembering to change gears.

The two had become roommates, since, typically, Petchra had not come into town with lodgings reserved. Marion was camped out in the renovated basement bedroom, and Spike had started sleeping on their living room couch more often than not, since Buffy's relapse. This overcrowding meant doubling up, and the other members of the household had instantly voted the two with the freakiest sleep schedules together, for the good of all.

It was working well, though Petchra had a surprising tendacy to end up with all the sheets and covers cocooned around her. Birdie had started sleeping in a sweatshirt to stave off the chill.

But that wasn't her only disturbing habit.

Oh, no. Not by far.

Birdie fought hard to keep her eyes on the road as the young Thai woman punched a CD code and track number into the music player on the dash. But she couldn't stop the groan that birthed at the first fiddle strains.

_"I saw the light_

I've been .baptised

By the fire in your touch

And the flame in your eyes

I'm born to love again 

I'm a brand new man..."

The scarred one rolled her eyes. "Country. You like country~western music. What kind of sicko..."

Petchra just started singing along, shouting the lyrics in her heavily accented voice, right along with Ronnie Dunn's southern drawl.

"_Well the whole town's talkin'/'Bout the line I'm walkin'/That leads right to your door.../Oh how I used to roam..."_ She turn her face in towards the driver side, and screamed, "_I was a rolling stone!"_

Birdie sighed dramatically, even as she winced at the sheer strident volume. Ever since this disturbing musical preference had come to light (and after failed attempts at conversion on both her own and Marion's part), she had been subjected to _far_ more dance hall music than any person outside the great state of Texas should be made to bear._ Admittedly, this is better than more of Dwight Yokam..._  
_  
_Then, Petchra started head-banging. "_I used to have a wild side/ They say a country-mile-wide/I'd burn those beer joints down/ That's all changed now," _she performed some bizarre seated two-step, now stocking'd feet skittering across the windshield in a way Birdie was sure would be impossible for anyone but a Slayer. "_You turned my life arooound!"_ And _still _head-banging.

The first time it had happened was some psuedo~pop country crossover that had come on the radio in the Magic Box. Petchra had started twitching like some fly-ridden horse, screaming about a long goodbye. Dawn had been silenced. Birdie had been shocked. Marion had been _horrified. _Spike had been present, until he had retreated back through the cellars to the crypt to throw the Clash onto repeat in defence.Marion had joined him almost immediately, stumbling into his crypt muttering something about Dolly Parton, and they'd drown'd their sorrows in The Guns of Brixton.

The impromptu bonding session had tightly united the two Brits, if only in shared horror for the fiddle.

Birdie gave a mental shrug. _Hey; whatever works._

And she jumped in when the chorus returned.

"_I saw the light/ I've been .baptised/ By the fire in your touch/ And the flame in your eyes/ I'm born to love again/ I'm a brand new man!"_

Ashamedly, she knew the next verse. And Petchra knew that. She dropped out, knowing Birdie's competionist personality wouldn't let the song go unaccompanied, now they were halfway through. Birdie thumped the steering wheel, for emphasis, while turning left and screaming, if not at the tops of her lungs or even exactly on key, at least showing willing.

"_I used to love 'em and leave 'em/ Oh, I'd brag about my freedom/ How no one could tie me down/ Then I met youuuuu/ Now my heart beats truuue!"_

Unprompted, she continued into the next verse, Petchra finally not being able to stand it, and coming back in. _"Baby you and me together/ Feels more like forever/ Than anything I've ever known/ We're right on track/ I ain't looking baack! I saw the light---"  
_  
Birdie managed to extricate herself from the song, and allowed Petchra to yell the last three choruses all by her lonesome.

They actually pulled into the drive before the song ended, but Birdie refrained from twisting the key until the final chords had died.

Petchra immediately silenced, calmly unbuckled her seatbelt, put her shoes back on, and headed for the house.While Birdie did those things that keep drivers occupied for a few minutes, she headed straight upstairs, where she knew Dawn, and probably Spike would be holed up.__

Birdie instead wandered into the den, and stopped short.

_Who the hell is that?_

_And is that _my_ Honeycomb she's eating?_

...Are those my clothes?_?_

The dark-haired young woman on the couch seemed perfectly at ease, working her way through a bowl of Cheerios, lounging around in a pair of olive green courderoys and a Goo Goo Dolls t-shirt. 

While Birdie was still standing there, wondering what to do, the mystery girl looked up. Bright chocolate eyes delivered a measuring glance. An eyebrow raised.

"You Birdie?"

The Scarred One nodded warily. The woman on the couch smirked. "So how's it feel?"

"How does what feel?"

"Being the Slayer."

Birdie stopped short, mid-step. "What do you know about being a Slayer?"

"A lot." At that moment, Petchra came down the stairs. "Birdie, where do the Summers keep the pain medication?" she asked in Thai. She blinked at the person on the couch. ".Hello..."

She was awarded the same studying look Birdie had received. "And you would be the Chosen _Other_ One?"

Petchra looked to Birdie for help. "Not actually one..." she started.

"Right. There's four or something now. You know B's listed as one of the longest-living Slayers ever? What a load of shit."

Birdie's brain clicked. "You're Faith."

"Right on one, B2."

Petchra leaned in left towards Birdie. "Shouldn't she be in prison?"

Faith looked annoyed. "Hey, stop that. I can't understand a word you're saying." The Thai Slayer raised an eyebrow at her in a passably condescending way. Faith rethought. "Which is probably why you're doing it." Inwardly, though, she was cheering. At least these girls weren't mindless council drones, like she'd feared. 

There were thumps on the stairs. "Nir, where's the meds?"

When Spike rounded the corner and saw the three Slayers all gathered in the den, he nearly groaned at the injustice of not being able or willing to take advantage of it. Stupid soul. Stupid chip. Not that the government metal was really the largest factor anymore, anyway, but still. What had Buffy called him? Serial killer in prison? Bitch didn't know what she was talking --well, yelling-- about. No prison would hold him for long if he really wanted out. Not even stupid metaphoric ones. He hid his inner dialogue of self and soul with (yes) a smirk. "I see you ladies have met. Corrupted them yet, then, Jailbird?"

"I was leading up to it."

"How's Dawn?" Birdie asked. "Willow sent us for reinforcements for the literary trenches."

Spike accepted the subject change. "Just needs some pills for the pain," he answered. "She's whining she has nothing to do. Not sure research is what she had in mind, but that's what she gets for being a whine around here."

Petchra shook her head, muttering under her breath in Thai, "He really is evil."

@ @ @

Research was progressing slowly but surely. Even Faith had relented enough from her doctrine of 'no research involvement,' to scan through a few of the more strictly English ones and cart huge stacks up and down the stairs. The stacks of books spiky with sticky notes were growing taller, and the unread ones were in shrink-mode. Only Petchra had successfully begged out of the experience, being only semi-literate at written English, and utterly useless with any other script. Strains of Montgomery Gentry could now be heard from the training room in the back, accompanied by lots of thumps and suspicious banging noises.

Dawn's eyes hurt from all the squinting at crabby, faded handwriting and she was getting twinges in her neck. IT was hard to tell if they were pain bleeding through the meds, or just from the poor posture she'd adopted to read. She looked across the card table at her bulldog, idly running a hand through his white hair as he scanned a page.

"Hey, Spike?"

"Hphm."

"Do you remember when Drusilla dumped you, and you came back here and had cocoa with my mom?"

Despite himself, the vampire smiled a bit at the memory. "Yeh. She ran to the corner store for marshmallows. Left you with me," he said. "You thought it was _so_ funny how I ran away from the cross. Backed me into a corner, you did. Slayer's sis, through and through." He shot her a glance. "Why do you ask?"

She shrugged. "You were kinda drunk. I just wanted to see if you remembered."

"'Course I remember."

"Yeah. Me too." Something in her tone made him put the book down and really look at her. She was staring at her own text, fiddling at a time~yellowed page corner with her fingernails. He put a hand between her eyes and the page, prompting her to look up at him.

"Now what's this about, Bit?" he asked her eyes.

She shrugged. "It's, um. I saw Faith. She ...didn't remember me at first. I _saw_ the moment the fake memories took hold." She shrugged again, trying for nonchalance, but never broke eye contact. "It's just kind of a downer to be reminded that you don't really exist."

Spike grimaced in his head. _Thought she'd worked through this. Right. It's _so_ easy to get over finding out you aren't really there._ "Dawn," he said quietly, but stressing her real name, "I want you to listen to me. Don't do that thing you do... Yeh, that one. I can see your eyes glazing over, girlie. Really listen." He cautiously took her hand, feeling irrationally happy when she immediately clasped back. He managed to abort the grin in favor of a smirk at the last minute, though.

"_You_ are Dawn Summers. You are a seventeen-year-old girl, and you are becoming an amazingly self~sufficient young lady. And you are that on purpose. It doesn't matter a whit that you are also the key. What matters is that all around you are people that love you, and you have the capacity to love them back."

Dawn's eyes teared up. "Spike..."

"Shush, Ducks. It's okay."

"No! Spike!" She managed to pull her hand from his. "I'm not supposed to grip things yet!" She groaned. "Go get me a painkiller!"

Birdie looked up at the shriek. "There's a bottle of Ibuprofin in the car."

Dawn jumped up, gently cradling her hand, and headed out the door.

@ @ @

Five minutes later, Spike looked up, realizing Dawn hadn't returned.

He went outside to see what the hold up was. 

She wasn't there.

After a minute, he caught a scent rather intimate to him. 

All Slayers have a certain smell.

But one specifically stands out in it's potency and color. At least for him.

He vamped, to get a better read. Yep. Damn it.

He ran back inside, grabbed the nearest urn, and hurled it at the floor.

"She's gone. The Slayer was here."

@ @ @

"So your arm hasn't healed yet, little sister with the shiny hair? That sparkly key gig doesn't afford you any special healing powers?"

Dawn's eyes teared up as she mutely shook her head.

Buffy sighed, and adjusted her grip on the girl's forearm.

"Such a shame."

@ @ @

Check out my witch savvy. Cinnamon's super powerful, y'all. No joke. Ever tried the Altoids?

And the lyrics (_notasongficnotasongficnotasongfic) _are property of Kix Brooks, Ronnie Dunn, and Don Cook. Brooks Dunn is actually one of the very few kick ass country bands out there, so don't think I'm in any way advocating diss-age of them. Www.brooks-dunn.com has more info.

Once again, illustrations of Birdie and Petchra (and Faith) can be found at my website. No, I haven't added any more, yet. Yea, I will eventually. As soon as I manage to draw Marion worth the paper.

~Star Mouse   
  
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	28. Many happy returns, but not really

  


**Chapter Twenty~Eight: Many happy returns, but not really.**

  
Warning: I don't watch _Angel_. If you do, and you try to apply character developments which have occurred in _Angel: the Series_ to my version of Angel: the Vampire, soon to appear in this very story, you will probably end up getting very annoyed. 

So just imagine that you are a high-school-age Buffy fan that has never seen _Angel_, and outside infic spoilers, has no idea what's going on in LA. Then you'll be fine. 

Ooh! Better yet, pretend that you're a person reading a fiction written by someone that has never seen _Angel_, and is basing all her character development on her own imagination and infic spoilers.

Even better, pretend that _Angel: the Series_ never happened, and _you're _basing all character development on your own imagination.

But the very best thing to do is to think to yourself, "Oh, Angel's back! What's he been doing the past four years, I wonder? I bet Star Mouse will let me know soon. La la la."

('La la la' is optional, and can be substituted with 'Dum di dum'.)

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

Buffy looked down in disgust at the top of Dawn's head.

"You're never any fun."

She wandered off in search of Vadas.

She found him back at the table. He acknowledged her with a regal tilt of his glass. "Anne. Something I can do for you?"

"Just wanted to let you know I'm going out."

"Oh, you are? And the girl?"

Buffy shook her head. "There's no point in questioning her. She's the equipment, not the manual. I'm off in search of something more interesting." With that she turned and headed for the door.

"This close to the deadline? Is that wise?" he called out after her. She didn't answer.

@ @ @

Several heads looked up when Xander came out of the Danger Room. A bit sluggishly, now that it was approaching 5:00 am.

Petchra gulped before whispering, "How is he?"

"Nearly incoherent. But he's moved on from the dangerous 'only destruction and loud noises can soothe me' stage to the one where he's quietly hating himself."

Anya breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God. I don't think I could have taken the death of another urn."

Birdie paced restlessly. "Are you _sure_ there's no way to locate them?"

Giles slammed his hand down. "Willow's tried! Apparently, they've put some astonishingly powerful wards up in the last few hours. Nothing can get through. She can't even get any of the depossession spells off the ground." He rubbed his eyes. "She's still trying, of course."

Anya looked at him. "She should stop soon. The weaker she gets, the more likely she'll..."

"I can't get through to her. Marion's woken up, though, and she was going to try..."

Birdie shook her head, saying, "If we don't find Dawn soon... Mr. Giles, Buffy could do anything to her like this."

"Yeah, and Spike's probably going to start trashing things again if we don't get a plan together soon," Faith added, trying to show her support. 

"What if _he_ gets dangerous?" Xander asked slowly.

"He won't. He's just worried about her, that's all."

"I know, I'm just running through some scenarios."

"Xander, you know better..." The camera (metaphoric camera) slides away from the people at the table, and the voices fade neatly into the background as focus shifts to the danger room itself. 

Spike is lying on the battered and dirty couch, face up, listening as the group discusses him. Well, he can hear them, anyway. He doesn't particularly care what the words meant right now. He's already gotten the important bits.

_Dawn's gone._

Buffy took her.

There's nothing we can do.

That's when it started to suck. And not in the good way. He didn't deal well with crises like these. Tended to ....kill things. Sometimes it helped. Other times, not so much. And as much as it killed him to admit it, he didn't really see a way that bashing heads could possibly make things better. 

The cold, calculating logic was always a bad sign.

He unfolded himself from the couch and grabbed his duster on the way out the door. When he emerged from the training room, Scooby eyes followed.

"Spike?" Birdie asked hesitantly.

"'M goin' to the crypt. Call if you find out anything."

"The crypt?" Birdie repeated. The vampire had practically moved into the Summers' living room over the past month. She couldn't remember the last time she'd come downstairs to an empty couch in the morning.

But he was gone without an answer.

"It's okay," Anya said. "He's probably going off to consume large amounts of alcohol, in a futile, yet often quite enjoyable effort to block out the pain of loss." She glanced at Xander. "Which isn't a good idea."

Giles rubbed his forehead. "I suppose one of us should attempt to stop him."

"Ah, let 'im go," Faith waved an arm dissmissively. "It's not like he's any good right now anyway. What's the prob?"

"And I for one don't want to be in charge of keeping the vampire from his liquor. It sounds dangerous."

Anya cocked her head. "Doesn't he have a chip?"

".Oh yeah. ...I'm still not volunteering."

"What, are you afraid he'll hurl insulting yet truthful jibes at you?"

Xander hedged. "No..."

The bell ding'd. Petchra jumped up. "Our hours of operation are between 8am and 8pm. Please come back tomorrow, or visit the official Magic Box website in the meantime, thank you."

Xander patted Anya's arm. "Honey, you've trained her well."

"Um, hello?"

His smile vanished. "Now _that's_ a voice I haven't missed for years. He looked up. "Dead Boy. How's it floatin'?"

The dark figure by the door sighed. "For the love of God, stop calling me that." He looked up. "I'm here on business. Faith--" he stopped, when the faces actually registered. "...is here."

Faith slowly stood from her perch on the table. "Hey! ...H-how'd you find me?"

Angel shook his head, remembering to allow for the Sunnydale Factor. "Cordelia had a vision. Saw you in Sunnydale."

Faith nodded. Xander scrunched his forehead. "Cordy's getting visions now?"

Angel ignored him. "Faith, why'd you do it?"

"What, prison's such a blast?"

"I thought you'd decided to do your time, get redeemed, fight the good fight. That plan doesn't include busting out of prison and fleeing the city."

The Dark Slayer bristled. "Hey, Fang, I _am_ fighting the good fight. I wasn't doing anyone any good incarcerated, and now that Buffy's b--" She stopped.

Angel's face darkened. "Buffy's ...what?"

@ @ @

"_Aracalan spe vu schalva ne. Arca mi paleor val..."_

Marion bit her lip as she watched Willow swing the censor. She'd been at it ever since Marion herself had woken up, four hours earlier, bright and coherent. She could tell it was taking it's toll on the young redhead. A few more attempts and she would have exhausted herself beyond the realm of usefulness.

Marion bit back a sigh of relief when she felt the spell fizzle out. Again. She quickly pulled the woozy Willow away from the circle electric-taped out on the carpet.

"That's it; I'm cutting you off," she said, resting the American on the floor against the couch.

Willow put up a token struggle, mumbling, "No, I can do it, I just need to..."

Marion grabbed the questing hands and held them firmly to the witch's own sides. "Baby, it's like beating yourself against a wall. You're not going to get through, and trying again won't do anything to change that."

She was alarmed to see a tear roll down Willow's cheek. "Oh, I'm sorry, luv, I'm sorry."

"It's all my fault," Willow blubbered. "It's- it's always my fault, but I can't -I can't fix it!"

"Shh..." Marion pulled the bawling redhead to her. "Making yourself sick isn't going to help."

"No, but --It makes me feel better."

"Willow, right now you must save yourself. For when we _do_ have a plan. And I have a feeling it can wait until the morning."

@ @ @

Spike fell onto the sarcophagus in his upper level around 5:30, mentally exhausted but unable to sleep.

He must have at some point, because he woke to a loud crash.

It took him about two seconds to register that as the door being kicked into the wall.

It took less for him to narrow down the list of creatures of a mind and strength of exerting that much force on his door to exactly one.

A deep sniff confirmed it.

The Slayer was back.

He tried to make his mind race, but he'd only just woken up, after all. _Think, dammit, think_. _What works on the Slayer?_ Bravado usually helped a little. _Good! Go with that._

Without sitting up, he drawled, "Can I help you, pet?"

"Possibly," came the response, and nothing more. He propped himself up on his elbows, to get a look.

There she was. What was it about evil that made people turn to leather pants? Not that he minded. In love or not, possessed or not, Buffy Summers was a gorgeous woman. He smirked. "Nice outfit, luv."_ This creature hurt Dawn._

"Thought you might like that," she said dryly. _This creature kidnapped Dawn._

"You wore it for me?" He asked, as she came closer. _This creature beat Buffy Summers._

Buffy smirked. "I wore it to distract you." And with that, the first punch of the evening was thrown.

Spike's head flew back to crack against his stone bed, but he managed to roll away in time to avoid the follow-up. He tumbled to his feet, with the sarcophagus between them, and shoved the cover off at her, falling into the fight without a second thought.

The grave cover tripped her up for a moment, and Spike took the offensive, leaping back over the now open sarcophagus to land as many punches as he could while the Slayer was distracted with not falling over. It didn't last long though. She sorted herself out and returned with a kick to the gut that sent Spike flying into the opposite wall. 

He slumped for a second, registering the fact that she was even stronger when she was possessed, before once again rolling away just ahead of another blow. Buffy's fist plowed two inches into the stone wall, and Spike took the opportunity presented to grab her arms and hurl _her_ across the room. He launched himself after and before she had a chance to pick herself up, he was on her, forearms at her wrists, legs twisted around hers to pin her down.

Buffy looked up into the fangs and brow ridges of a seriously pissed off master vampire, and grinned.

"This is the part where you try to convert me to the side of good before you kill me," she prompted, struggling for a give.

"Why bother?" he returned, adjusting his grip.

"No reason. It's just kind of what you're supposed to do at times like this."

"Something tells me you wouldn't listen anyway."

She stopped struggling, and looked up at him. What are you going to do? It's a stalemate. You have to let go to attack, and the second you do, I'm gone."

"Who said I had to let go to attack you?" He asked, and dove for her throat.

@ @ @

Angel sat silent for a while, digesting the confused Scooby explanation and its implications.

He looked up. "Buffy's possessed?"

Anya nodded solemnly.

"And she's working with Dorjan Vadas?"

Anya shrugged. "As near as we can figure."

"And none of the spells you've tried are working to _de_possess her?"

"Nope."

"...Oh."

@ @ @

When Spike went for the throat, Buffy craned her own head and sunk her teeth in the side of his neck, as hard and deep as she could manage. Which translated to pretty deep.

Spike pulled back with an anguished howl. At least a vampire's fangs are _sharp_. This was like sutures with a dull needle. Buffy used the flinch to press forward, punching him again and knocking him back long enough for her to scramble to her feet.

"You know, there's a war coming. Us against you people," she panted, looking down on the profusely bleeding vampire. "And you know what? You don't deserve to be a part of it."

And she pulled a stake from her waistband.

Spike stared up at the calculating hazel eyes, just before she lunged.

Time did that thing where it goes super slow and then catches up in a rush. A rush that ended with Spike crying out in shock and pain.

He jerkily turned his head to stare down at the stake embedded in his ...right shoulder? His eyes darted back up to Buffy, who was standing there, wide-eyed.

"No.." she whispered stunned. She suddenly turned angry. "No! She can't--. I- I" She started backing away. "It's not possible," she gritted. "She can't." She stumbled against the sarcophagus, then broke into a sprint for the door.

Spike staggered upright, the stake still projecting from his shoulder, and watched helplessly as she escaped into the sunlight. He stared after her for several moments, licking his lips.

"Bloody hell," he whispered. It had just been for an instant. The demon was firmly in control. But on the downswing, just as he stake was about to--. 

_She broke through. Buffy broke through._

She'd saved him.

@ @ @

When Marion arrived at the Magic Box, she was greeted by one more solemn face than she was used to.

"Who's this?" She asked, eying the broad brunette slumped at the table.

"Angel. Buffy's first vampire," Xander answered.

The young Watcher eyed the apparently thirty~year~old man. "He looks as if he's just been filled in."

"You're not wrong."

She came over to the table. Faith and Birdie were both perched on the tabletop itself, with Petchra leaning against the edge. Anya and Xander were seated in the chairs. Angel took the third, leaving one left open for Giles, but the Englishman had apparently eschewed it in favor of the wall off to the side. Marion took the chair.

Giles spoke into his mug. "Willow?"

"Nearly burned out," Marion answered. "I cut her off about an hour ago. I don't think magic's the answer this time 'round." She licked her lips. "Any other plans?"

"None, I'm afraid."

Marion swallowed. "I may have one."

Xander sat up. "Do tell."

"They're trying to open a gateway. That's why they wanted me," she began.

"Dawn," Giles realized.

"Dawn?" Marion's brow furrowed. "What does she have to do with interdemensional gateways?"

"She opens them," Anya explained. "By bleeding."

"Really?" Faith asked. "Huh."

Angel didn't react.

Marion looked around at the assembled. "You ...failed to mention this?"

"Sorry," Xander spoke for the group.

Giles came over to lean on the table. "It's ...possible, with Dawn's latent powers, they no longer need the information they were attempting to extract from you. There are numerous spells that would become much simpler with a being such as Dawn at their dispose. They may very well be ready to act at this very moment."

"What exactly are they trying to do?" Anya asked curiously.

"They were going to summon an army," Marion said. "At least, that's what I gathered from the questions she was asking. Standard take-over the-world procedure."

Angel made a decision, and looked up. "So we'll stop them."

Xander spread his arms. "And how do you propose we do that?"

The vampire looked sideways at him before addressing the group. "By whatever means necessary."

"You'd kill Buffy," Xander asked incredulously.

Angel's gaze was level. "She'd do the same for me."

"Yes, well, that's all rather irrelevant at this point, I'm afraid. We don't even know where they are."

Angel turned to Marion. "You?"

"I didn't see much, being a bit unconscious at the time." She shook her head. "Buffy'd converted a room into a training facility, and that was where she... .It's all kind of blurred."

"So that's a dead end," Faith said. "We need a new plan."

"Linoleum."

Giles blinked. "What?"

"Linoleum," Marion repeated. "Linoleum tile and concrete block."

"Well, that's a classic combination," Xander said. "School building."

"The high school?" Angel asked.

"Um, problem. It was completely destroyed."

"The college," Birdie suggested.

"It's in session; someone would have noticed."

"Hey!" Xander snapped his fingers. Anya snapped hers too. "There's a new elementary school going up right now. It was going to open next year, but they spent all their money on the theater and had to halt construction..."

"That's it." Angel stood up.

Giles straightened also. "You seem to have forgotten: they already_ have_ an army. We may be talking hundreds of vampires, not to mention Buffy and that Dorjan chap. You propose to go up against it, against _them_ single-handedly?"

Faith hopped off the table. "Not single-handedly. I'm there."

Petchra, who had been silent the entire conversation, pushed herself off the table and picked up her staff from against the wall. She calmly walked over to join Faith and Angel. Birdie hopped up without a second thought.

Anya shrugged. "That significantly increases your odds. You'll still die, though."

Giles suddenly remembered the prophecy. _But one Slayer and one vampire are missing._

Angel nodded to the three Slayers, and looked around. "Weapons?"

"Lots," Xander said. He swallowed, then nodded. "Go kick some ass."

@ @ @

Review. Please. Now.

~Star Mouse  
  
  


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	29. When the going gets tough

  
** Chapter Twenty~Nine: When the going gets tough.**

Once there was a little girl named Star Mouse, who had blue hair (see her website). She wrote lots of fanfiction, but no one ever reviewed, so she never knew if she was any good or not.

The end.

~Star Mouse

@ @ @

When Dawn came to, the room was empty, and her only restraints were a pair of handcuffs around her ankles. They obviously didn't see her as much of a threat. Buffy was gone.

_--her eyes were cold, her smile mocking in it's brightness. She ran gentle fingers along the bruises littering her arm. "You know, Dawnie, she never_ really_ told you why she did it..."--_

Dawn ran a hand over her throbbing arm. Nothing had been rebroken, at least. She winced when her thumb hit a particularly sensitive bruise. Most of the ...the torture had been focused on her weakened limb.--

_"...She never told you why she had such an easy time taking your place on that tower..."--_

Dawn ran a quick inventory. She was pretty much untouched, other than the arm. The throbbing intensified when she shifted, and she gritted her teeth against the pain. New!Improved!Mature Dawn could work through pain. She was sure of it. 

A stupid little girl whose only good quality was her shiny hair would sit here and cry, wondering when Buffy would come back. A self-sufficient young woman who occasionally got kidnapped would... She took out an earring and eyed the hook.

...Pick the lock on the handcuffs.

Thanks to Spike's less than savory education, it took about two minutes to get one foot free. Dawn unlocked the other side even more quickly, and stood up, flexing her ankles. A little sore, but no big thing. The arm was still the biggest problem, but at least that shouldn't slow her down too much. She took a second to look around the room.

Now that she wasn't focused on being terrified, she instantly recognised the theme of the decor. _Of course it's a school. It's always a school._ There was exercise equipment scattered around the room, and a window through which she could see dark sky. This must be Buffy's room alone, if the window wasn't covered.

Dawn stuffed the handcuffs in her pocket, and crossed the room to the small pile of weapons against the wall. There wasn't nearly as much as they had at the Magic Box, but it was still a pretty impressive stash, especially considering the shot amount of time Buffy'd had to collect it.

_--"It wasn't because she loved you, Dawnie. Not because she loved you. Do you want to know why, sweet sister?"--_

Dawn grabbed a bat that had been mixed in with the axes and swords. She'd always been more comfortable with blunt objects. Thus armed, she went back to the door and listened for a second before cautiously opening it and escaping into a compound full of vampires.

_--"It wasn't because she loved you, little girl. Not because she couldn't bear to leave you." The blonde leaned in near her ear and whispered sweetly, "It was because she couldn't bear to _stay with you."

_Dawn raised her eyes meet the cruel face of her sister. Buffy saw the pain there, and smiled. Dawn smiled back; whispered raggedly, "I don't blame her."  
_  
@ @ @

Three Slayers and a vampire walked to the front of the elementary school. Petchra and Birdie promptly turned off to the side and continued along the side of the building. Angel and Faith looked at each other.

"Where are you two going?" Angel asked.

"Basement," Birdie replied. "According to Xander, there's access around this way. We may be able to catch a large part of the army unawares."

Faith shrugged at Angel and started after them. "Yeah, but about three vamps in, they'll probably catch on, don't ya think?"

Petchra bent down and pointed out a hose in the wall. Birdie smiled.

"If these gas lines are hooked up, it should be a whole lot easier than that."

@ @ @

"No..." Giles rubbed his forehead. "Well, yes, I--" He frowned when he was cut off again, switching ears. "...Well, I must disagree with you there. I happen to have several other bids for far less than you are suggesting, and if this keeps on, I may be forced to go to a different supplier." Anya nodded encouragingly, and gave him a thumbs up.

Giles smiled and nodded back, before his brow furrowed. "Well, no, I don't suppose..." He shot Anya a nervous glance. "...You don't say..."

She shot him a 'what's the problem' look, and he gestured frantically at the phone, where he was increasingly obviously fighting a losing battle.

"Yes, I see where that would --hey!" With a frustrated noise, Anya had grabbed the phone from him.

"Look, you little one-browed weasels. Exorbitant billing is not an intelligent business practice, and will only lose you customers and money. What you're charging for that second-rate blood of yours is ludicrous, and don't think the rest of the bars in this town aren't going to hear it from me! Here's what you're going to do..."

Over at the research table, Marion and Xander watched in awe. He shook his head.

"God, I love her."

Marion nodded. "Her ...fervor is rather attractive."

"--and another 10% for each referral. Oh yes I-- dammit, hold on." She covered the phone. "Someone's beeping in. Pick it up in the training room. I've got the suckers right where I want 'em!!"

Marion hopped up from the table and jogged into the training room. She found the phone under an exercise mat and proceeded with the complex process of picking up call waiting. "Hello?"

"Who's that? Punk-Ass?"

"Spike?" _Whyever would he be calling--_ "What's happened, you sound ...short of air. That can't be right..."

"Bugger it. I need to talk to Birdie. She was right."

_Uh oh. _Marion spoke slowly. "Spike, Birdie and the others just went to attack Dorjan Vadas's headquarters. Wait. Right about what?"

There was a bang, like he'd hit the phone against something in frustration. "Shit! What others?"

Marion sat down on the tattered couch. "Well, Birdie, and Petchra, and Faith, and Angel."

There was a pause on the line. "'D you say Angel?"

"Yes."

"What the hell's he doin' 'ere?!"

"Um, I don't know. He just kind of, er, showed up. Spike, what's this all--"

"Shut it. You and Red need to do the spell. The one you tried with Nibblet before. How soon can you get it set up?"

"The Mind-Diving? Spike, what--"

"I figured it out. Buffy came to my crypt today, and Buffy, the real Buffy, broke through for a second to save me from her demon. 'S not Dawn that's gotta do it, 's me. I'm the only one she'll let in. You've gotta do the thing before the Slayers and the git kill her!"

Marion had a moment of _Of course! _then shook her head. "Spike, it's impossible. They've already left, Willow's asleep, and Vadas has erected a magic barrier around the place. There's no way." She heard the door open, and she turned to see Willow standing there in her pajamas.

"The barrier's down," the redhead said excitedly. 

_Oh, right. This is Sunnydale. _".Never mind. We'll be ready in five minutes. Willow will tell you what to do." She passed the phone off and dashed out the door to the main shop to get the proper supplies for a long distance version of the Mind-Diving spell.

Willow looked at the phone in confusion before bringing it to her ear. "Hello?"

@ @ @

Dawn had done it on accident. Well, sort of. She'd been trying to get out of the school without being seen, when she'd heard this weird sound, sort of like someone chanting. Deciding to risk the possibility of being spotted, she'd followed the sound to another classroom. Inside, there were three vampires huddled around a glowing mirror set up in the middle of some rather intricate chalkwork. From her elementary magic classes with Marion and Willow, she recognised the makings of a shield/ward. Such a thing could probably be very helpful for someone wanting to avoid a magical attack. And since this _was_ the enemy, she and her baseball bat did the only thing they_ could_ do in the situation.

When the chanting stopped, the glow in the mirror faded, and Dawn got the distinct feeling that something had happened. Or, more correctly, _stopped_ happening.

Then, as she was catapulted into the opposite wall, she got the distinct feeling that something had exploded beneath her.

@ @ @

"Woo! Mass destruction!" Faith did a little dance while, on the other side of a dumpster, flames shot out of the basement windows "'S gotta be a huge chunk of the undead army up in dust!" She sighed, shaking her head. "God, I love pyro."

Birdie, squatting beside her in the shelter provided by the dumpster, nodded agreement. "One of our better plans."

Angel wasn't quite as pleased. "And what if Dawn _had_ been in there? Then what would you have done?" he asked. They'd made him go down undercover-like in the basement with the army and listen for heartbeats/smell for live flesh before lighting the match. (Or letting loose the thermokinetic magical charge. Whatever) He was still a little pissed about being treated like a kamikaze bloodhound.

None of the Slayers deigned to respond. Petchra twirled her staff, then said something to Birdie, who grinned. The Thai Slayer and her leather jacket strode off.

"Hey, what'd she say?" said Faith.

Birdie stood also, and pulled a stake from her belt. "She said, 'Let's boot-scoot and boogie.' We'll hit the back, if you guys want to take the front entrance."

"Rock on," Faith opined, pulling a wicked-looking spike from the recesses of her clothing, and following the other two out.

Angel sighed. "Now I understand why there's only one of them. Bossy..." he hopped up and followed them all into the school.

@ @ @

Marion shook her head, arranging candles. "I don't understand it. Their wards were doing just fine earlier."

Xander shrugged. "Maybe they ran out of batteries." He'd been informed that this would be a Spectator Xander fight, and was now doing his best to answer all questions asked in his vicinity, even when they were rhetorical.

Giles rubbed his eyes. "I doubt that's the case," he muttered. He had also become aware of the fact that he was pretty much useless at the moment, and was dealing by getting a headache. Anya was still on the phone with his suppliers, and didn't seem to really mind her lack of part in the festivities. "But something must have happened on the inside. Perhaps it was Angel and the other Slayers. Could you tell?" he half-directed at the redhead.

Willow didn't answer. She was still explaining the details to Spike over the phone. "Now, since we'll be doing the chanting, all you have to do is say the forward any time in the next half hour, and it will automatically connect our energy to your actions," she repeated. "But remember you_ have _to be in contact with her when you say it, otherwise it won't work." She made a face. "No, I _don't_ think you're an idiot, I just don't want you to screw it-- Yes, I know you're older than me. .No, I know. Oh just," she clicked the end call button and tossed the phone away. "Stupid stressed out argumentative vampire," she muttered, then put on a bright face. "Okay. How're we doing?"

"Done," Marion answered, lighting the final candle. She looked across the circle at Willow, who, though perky, had heavy bags under her eyes. "We'll have to sustain this for a while, so pace yourself. You're sure you're strong enough?"

Willow nodded once, and they locked hands. Xander and Giles backed out of the way, so as not to interfere with the spell.

"Connecters," Marion whispered. "Ties that bind, strengthen, draw tight. Connecters..."

@ @ @

They'd encountered the first of the vampires almost immediately upon entering the school. They were a little confused, what with all the explosions earlier, but still attacked them straight off. The noise had attracted others, and so on, until the entire building had become a battleground. Petchra and Birdie met back up with Angel and Faith when both pairs worked their ways to the cafeteria. At least sixty vamps were attacking them pretty much all at once, and even with a Master and three Slayers, they were starting to lose ground. And still, two people were markedly absent from the brawl.

Faith slung a vampire towards Birdie, who impaled him and ducked another that Petchra had sent her way. "Where's. Vadas." Faith gritted.

"Dunno. Don't even know what he looks like." Birdie suddenly faltered. "_Dawn?_" she shouted.

Faith followed her gaze across the room, where the young brunette was having at several vampires with a ...baseball bat?

"What's she doing in this?" Birdie cried.

"Look's like she's kickin' some ass," Faith said, stabbing yet another vamp through the back.

Birdie shook it off. "Okay, whatever. Check 'save Dawn' off the to-do list. Yay us. What about Buffy?"

"Don't worry," Faith assured. "B'll show. She likes to make an entrance."

There was a scream to their left. Birdie whirled around to see Petchra pulling at a crossbow bolt embedded in her arm. She fought her way over to beat back the vampires trying to take advantage of the Thai Slayer's distraction. Faith looked to the stage, from which the bolt had come. Somewhere in the last few minutes, the curtains had been pulled aside. A business-suited brunette with a slightly foreign look was standing just out of the shadows, looking around the cafeteria with disapproval. Beside him--

"B."

The blonde was fully leather-clad, still holding the bow up in front of her. She was staring intently at the Slayer who'd shot her at the Bronze. "Payback, junior." She turned her face and looked directly at Faith, who was giving her a death glare. _How cute._ She reaimed. "You're next."

Faith ducked the bolt and ran for the stage at end of the cafeteria, battling and dodging her way through lesser targets, leaving a trail of dust puffs in her wake. She sprinted the final few yards and vaulted up onto the six-foot high stage. 

Buffy kept the weapon trained on her as Faith advanced slowly across the hardwood towards her. 

"I can take it from here," the blonde spoke aside to the man Faith had to assume was Dorjan Vadas. He shrugged and walked off stage right. Faith thought about following him, but her fight was right here.

She wasn't sure how Possessed!Buffy would respond to a rush. For all she knew, this new incarnation was a 'shoot 'em 'n' go on' type. She eyed the crossbow. "We really need weapons for this?" she asked nonchalantly. 

Buffy cocked her head at the wording. After a moment, she tossed the crossbow into the far shadows of the stage. "No, I guess not."

Faith smirked. "You did the first time."

And the fight _really_ began.

@ @ @

Yay! Action! And you know how much I _love_ writing fight scenes.

Also: You know how this story is supposed to have romance in it? It's actually coming, now. How awesome is that? Thirty chapters in, we're finally going to get smoochies. Well, not quite smoochies yet, but definitely into the _pre_smoochies, which are just as fun.

*Waves pocketwatch in front of your face* _You will review... You will review..._

~Star Mouse  
[Irony Menu] [Continued Soon!]  
  
  


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	30. Repunzel Barbie and the Doorless Dreamho...

  
Sorry for the delay. I had issues. Well, I still do, but that's as good an excuse as any.

~Star Mouse

@@@

**Chapter 30: Repunzel Barbie (TM) and the doorless dreamhouse.**

@@@

  
Angel looked towards the two newest Slayers, who were fighting back to back, shouting a frantic conversation in Thai over the shrieks of exploding vampires. They seemed to have a pretty good rhythm down, and many of the vamps were crowding around them, trying to take out what they now perceived as the greatest threat. That gave him a little leeway to work his way to the brunette with the baseball bat.

"Dawn!"

She whirled, smacking a vampire across the face. "Little. Busy!"

Angel came up beside her and threw off a vamp with a mace. Dawn acknowledged him by shifting her stance so he could get back to back with her.

"Now!"

Beyond one of his attackers' shoulder, Angel saw Birdie drop her weapons and thrust her arms out in front of her. Light exploded from her palms, effectively incinerating a line of about ten vampires. She fell backwards, and Petchra dusted a vamp that had tried to take advantage of her moment of weakness. 

_Okay, that's useful. _

Birdie stood upright, and took a stake from Petchra.

"We can do it once every five minutes or so! Stay out of the way!" she called out.

"Don't worry," he muttered, grabbing another by the neck and twisting it's head off. They were doing well, but it wasn't enough. Obviously, the entire army hadn't been camping in the basement. The vampires just kept coming, and he could feel his strength waning.

_*_

"So, you didn't train much in jail, huh?" Buffy gave the other Slayer another vicious kick. She easily blocked the counterattack, and threw a punch at her face. "You're _really_ not on the top of your game. At least last time I was sore after..."

Faith flew back, skidding across the polished wooden floor. She frictioned to a stop, and lay there for a minute, stunned. This wasn't going well.

"Aw, c'mon. You aren't even trying. Are you?" Faith lay helplessly as Buffy leaned over into her dome of vision. The blonde seemed thoughtful.

"Maybe if I..." She reached down.

*

Angel heard Faith scream, and was running for the stage before he realized what he was doing. He vaulted the rise and ripped the blonde away from the prostrate form on the floor.

"Back off."

Buffy shook him off and danced back. "Oh, knight gallant. You're quite the hero these days. Does it really make you feel better?"

Beside him, Faith climbed to her feet. He shooed her off towards the cafeteria proper. The brunette jumped off the stage and fought her way to Dawn. Angel turned back to his former love, who was watching him with hip and eyebrow cocked.

"Buffy, I know you're in there somewhere. Fight it, Buffy. Think about what you're doi--Ungh!"

"You know, Spike didn't try to get through to me."

Angel shook off the blow in time to block the next one. "Spike?" He lashed out with a leg, and managed to connect with her solar plexus. His internal hiss of triumph was tempered by the fact that It didn't seem to really phase her. He didn't know if it was the demon or just hard living, but this Buffy was much tougher then the last one he'd fought. She just kept attacking, chatting pleasantly all the while.

"Yeah, you haven't heard that story, have you? A lot's happened since you hopped a bus out of Dodge. He was in love with me for a while, you know." She kicked Angel in the knee. "But somewhere between my fucking his brains out and his getting a soul, we drifted apart." She pulled back to punch him again. "Shame how that happens."

A cool grip closed over her fist. "Isn't it though?" Her head whipped around and then back when Spike clubbed her in the jaw.

"Nice to see ya, Peaches. Now get your arse off the stage."

"Spike--"

"Get off the stage and help the Slayers. _Now!"_ Spike vamped against Buffy's struggles. He realised she was inevitably working free of his grip, and threw her clear across the stage. "Why. Are you. Still. Here?"

Angel stood, uncertain, until Dawn screamed. He dove off the stage into the sick and twisted mosh pit of creatures of darkness.

Buffy pulled herself to her feet, all easy menace and uninjured grace. "I'd rather be fighting you anyway."

Spike growled low in his throat. "Mutual."

They simultaneously threw themselves at each other.

@@@

"Ties that bind, strengthen, draw tight. Connectors, guide this traveller though the veil and back. Guide him. Connectors, guide him. Ties that bind. Connectors, strengthen, draw tight..."

"G-man. Is it working?"

Giles shook his head. "I have no way of knowing. We won't be able to tell until Spike activates the transfer."

"That's another thing. How come Spike gets to save the world?"

"Well, I'd say he's due a few apocoli. Besides, you got the last one."

"...Connectors, ties that bind, strengthen, draw tight. Connectors, ties that bind, strengthen, draw tight. Guide this traveller through the veil and back."

@@@

{Punch, punch, kick kick, taunt, taunt, punch punch...}

"Ha!" Spike pinned Buffy against the cement block wall of the stage behind the curtains. He held her roughly in place with an arm splayed across her upper chest and a bent leg crossed over hers. For the moment she was immobilized.

She struggled, but to no avail, and settled for spitting blood in his face. "Coward. Not gonna let me fight? You afraid I'm gonna--"

He smashed his lips against hers, ripping at her cheeks with his fangs.

He gripped her head with both hands as he bit savagely at her mouth. _"Pwerstrnsferthrwthevesselsintothistravlr."   
_  
@@@

"--draw tight. Guide this traveller--!" There was a pause, and both witches jerked. Willow recovered first.

"Connectors, strengthen, draw tight, guide thistraveller_throughtheveilandbacknow!"_

There was a flash.

Then a pause.

Then a cough. "Did it work?"

Marion shook herself. She looked to Willow for confirmation. "I--I believe so."

"It was different," Willow agreed.

Xander looked at the other people nervously. "So now what? What does Spike do now that he's got an all access pass into Buffy's head, and by the way, I really don't like the sound of that."

The witches looked at each other.

"I dunno."

@ @ @

[cue songfic]

I'm stuck in my ivory tower.  
I'm sitting on my ivory bed.  
I have absolute power  
over the world inside my head.  
But it doesn't really matter,  
'cause I'll never see my love again.  
And I'm stuck in this ivory tower...

@ @ @

"_Once upon a time, there was a kind and generous king, who ruled over a great and prosperous kingdom," _the singsong voice began.

"_His daughter, the princess, was very beautiful, with hair like spun gold thread. Unfortunately, she was such a smart-ass bitch that her father was forced to lock her up in a high high tower, where she couldn't be a menace to society."_

Buffy jolted awake. "Wha--?"

She registered the doorless walls and stone slab floors at nearly exactly the same time she registered the stiff fabric tangling up her legs.

"Wha-huh?" she rearticulated, staring down at her volumous skirts. _My God, I'm wearing a corset. ...And a parachute._

She stood as quickly as she could from the cliched cot in the corner and rushed to the single window, batting at her volumous dress in vain effort to subdue it. She tripped and caught herself against the stone edge of the glassless window. 

It was a beautiful sunny day, eerily similar to the day Willow nearly destroyed the world. The kind of day that makes you glad to be alive. Old folksy pastures and fields stretched to the horizon in a checkerboard pattern. 

She glanced down, and gulped. She had to be thirty stories up. No stairs. No handy ropes...

"No escape."

Buffy whirled, with difficulty, to face the voice. She eyed the brunette in blue, and attempted to menace. "How did you get in here?"

An annoying smirk. _But not the right smirk_. "Wrong question. How did _you_ get in here?"

_How did I get here? _"Will you give me a straight answer?"

The man shrugged. "Sure. If that's what you really want." _What's that accent? Eastern European?_

"I want."

"You are here because you lost a fight with one demon, and threw a fight with another. Don't you remember?"

_~A protection amulet. It'll, you know, protect you. --Kick my ass. Literally? I'm losing control, I can feel it.~_

"Willow..."

"Yes. For a well-meaning friend, she endangers your lives on a fairly regular basis."

Buffy ignored that, still thinking. "So where am I now?"

"Mm. Tougher question. Though not entirely accurate, the answer 'inside your own mind,' will probably be the most satisfactory."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "My mind. So I'm locked in a tower like Repunzel Barbie ...in my head?"

"That's correct."

"And this is because of the demon Willow, Dawn, and Marion summoned?"

"Are you going to repeat everything I say?"

Buffy scowled. "No. I'm just confirming. Now, next question. If this is my head, then who the hell are you?"

The man smiled. "My name is Dorjan Vadas."

@ @ @

In my head, you love me.  
You'll carry me away  
into a setting sun, and before the day is done  
we'll already be married.   
It's so perfect in my head.  
But I must be careful where I tread,

for I'm locked in an ivory tower  
and I'm sitting on my ivory bed  
I have absolute power  
over the world inside my head  
but it doesn't really matter  
cause I'll never see my Love again  
and I'm stuck in this ivory tower. . .

@ @ @

Buffy's brow furrowed. "Dorjan Vadas? Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

His lip quirked. "Probably not. However, it might interest you to know that as we are so ..._pleasantly_ conversing, our counterparts are attempting to establish a new world order."

"What?"

"Your friends are waging war against you. The Slayers are at war with you. You're at war with them. Such a thing has only happened once before..."

"...Faith."

"Yes," he agreed. "But she's there now. She's fighting the battles you should be fighting.

"I-- I would be--" Buffy defended, confused. Vadas waved her words away.

"Yes. Except you let yourself be taken down early. Not very helpful, were you? And now _your_ body is running around _your_ town, causing hell for _your_ little friends, and _you_ are to busy sealing yourself here," he indicated the stone chamber, "to notice."

Buffy bit her lip, trying not to think about what he was really saying. "Why am I noticing now?"

"Pardon?"

"Why am I hearing all this now, instead of earlier?"

Dorjan smiled. "Because you, like any princess worth her salt, have gained a champion."

@ @ @

"What the bloody hell is this?"

He squinted.   
He couldn't see.   
He brought a hand to his face, and his elbow squeaked in protest.   
He twisted his torso and got pinched in the side.   
He figured it out.   
He was wearing a _damn stupid suit of armour!_

Spike tried to walk. He tripped. He tried to get up. It was no good. He had no flexibility, and just kind of rocked a little, like a turtle on it's back. His legs desperately flailed around, trying to work up enough momentum to flip, getting more and more pissed off. 

Inside the helmet, he vamped out. With a roar, Spike wrenched at the shining silver plating, ripping through it like tin foil. 

...When nothing was left but a pile of scrap, and his normal ensomble of black and black had been revealed, he stood up, still shedding little filings. With vindictive glee, he drop-kicked the plumed helmet into the ...field-filled distance?

Blinking in the bright, for~some~reason~non-lethal daylight, Spike bit his cheek.

"Uh _huh._"

He spotted a tower in the distance. It practically screamed 'Climb me and save the princess'. There was even a cloud hanging over it, providing the only gloom in the view.

"Well, that looks pretty straight-forward," he mused. He glanced down at the recently deceased armour, and fished a sharp piece of what had once been a thigh plate out of the pile. Fingering the edge gave him a bleeding thumb, and a smirk. _Damn good knife, this._

"Right then," he said, hefting his new toy. "Prince Charming, eat your heart out." Then, lower, "On second thought, allow me."

And with that, Spike started off on a grand quest to save the woman he under-no-circumstances-loved.

@ @ @

"_Spike's_ going to save me?" Buffy asked incredulously.

"Correct."

Buffy flopped down on the hard floor. Luckily, the skirts provided a lot of padding. "Oh, goodie. The one person in the world that hates me more than just about anything."

Dorjan smiled. "Oh, there are more than one, I assure you."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I kinda knew that. But why him, of all people? He can't be doing it by choice." _Giles probably threatened to stake him. Or maybe Willow gave the toads speech._

"Because he," Dorjan said calmly, "of all people, is the only one who can."

Buffy glared at him a second, not sure why, then darted for the window. About halfway there, she tripped over he long skirts and bounced off the wall. She glared down at the offending fabric. "This bites," she whimpered.

"But isn't it what you wanted?"

She turned on what she was increasing sure was her captor. "What are you talking about?"

Dorjan eyed her for a moment, then abruptly switched topics. "Who are you?"

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Since you know so much, why don't you tell me?"

"I can't. This is _your_ impromptu journey of self-discovery. Not mine."

Buffy watched him suspiciously, before answering, "The Slayer."

He smiled. "There now. That wasn't so hard, now was it? Let's try another one: _What are you_, child?"

There was a pause. 

"Hey..."

"Answer the question, please."

"That was a cheap trick," she said, berating herself for falling for it.

"You wish to change your answer?"

"Yeah. My who's Buffy Summers, california girl, blah blah blah. My what's the Vampire Slayer. You know. the Chosen One?"

He pointed. "There. That's the root of this all. You are not even sure of who you are, and you lean on that to give yourself meaning. You define yourself by what you are, not who you are, by what you were chosen to be, not by who you choose to be."

"That's-- It's not--" Buffy sputtered. "I just didn't know what you meant," she argued. "That's the only reason I hesitated at all."

The blue-clothed man shook his head. "No, it's more than that. It must be. And it's tearing you apart. Why else would you be here?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I thought you already answered that one, oh wise Zandar. I lost a fight with a demon."

"You lost a fight, yes. But why?"

"Uh, because it was _stronger_ than me?" 

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you didn't want to win? Perhaps you wanted to be saved."

Buffy glared at him, even as her brain cycled through his meaning. "What are you getting at?"

He shrugged. "It's your mind, Vampire Slayer. You are the one who made it a prison. It is you who chose, however subliminally, to become a damsel in distress."

@ @ @

I pace the room  
It's round and stone.  
I want to escape, but this place is my home  
I have nowhere to go  
I have nowhere to ride  
I have no real reason to try to hide. 'Cause  
I have an Ivory Tower.

@ @ @

Spike hadn't gotten a hundred yards before there was a voice behind him.

"Vampire!"

He turned. "Yeah. Pretty good guess, given the sunshine and all." There was a yellow, amphibious creature with fly eyes standing in the grass. "You must be a roadblock."

"Do not go on," it said.

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Is Buffy in the tower?"

The creature nodded.

"Then I go on. Now bugger off." Spike turned around and started off again.

"Do _not go_ _on_, Vampire!" the yellow thing called. Against his better judgement, Spike turned back, again.

"Why not?"

The creature approached, feet making _sckchluck,sckchluck_ noises in the tall grass. "It is not worth your time. You will get no thanks. She will use you, like she did before. Reject your love, like she did before."

Spike spread his arms wide and stared into the sky. "For pity's sake, people! I am _not_ in love with the bitch!"

"Then why go on? I promise, you will be greatly rewarded should you desist, and be greatly tried should you proceed."

Spike smirked. "Trust me. If I'm going to be around the Slayer for any length of time, it's going to be trying."

"Then stay. Claim your reward..." A mountain of shiny things blinked into existence behind the frog. Spike eyed the pile.

"Very pretty," he said, and started off again.

"Vampire!" 

With a roar, Spike spun and stabbed the butt-ugly thing through the gut with his scrap metal knife. He twisted as he yanked it out, letting the dead creature flop to the ground, and eyed the dripping length of his weapon with distaste. He swiped it clean against one of the thing's feet, then started off again.

"Told you to bugger off."

@ @ @

I'm locked in an ivory tower  
and I'm sitting on my ivory bed  
I have absolute power  
over the world inside my head  
but it doesn't really matter  
cause I'll never see my Love again  
and I'm stuck in this ivory tower. . .  
I'm stuck in this ivory tower.  
Forever. The end.

@ @ @

Lyrics from 1FB&Co's "Ivory Tower." 

Notice how I got sick of the fighting scenes? How irritating are those?--

Also, I wanted to remind anyone who's forgotton that Birdie _can_ do the 'energy discharge thing', as is mentioned in one of the single digit chapters. I think I'll have to go back and put in some more mention of that somewhere, so it doesn't seem so totally random. It may not be obvious that the basement explosion was also started in that manner. Blame my writing. It's a jerk, anyway.

I'm debating posting the firsts of four new WIPS. Just out of curiostiy, will anyone read them?

~Star Mouse  
[Irony Menu] [Continued Soon!]  
  
  


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	31. Knight Errant

**Chapter Thirty~One: Knight Errant**

@ @ @

"Huh."

Spike stared at the sheer stone wall in front of him. "'At's not gonna work."

He put an experimental hand to one of the joints. 

_Hmm..._

It wasn't really smooth. You know, compared to a pyramid. A knife could get through, probably. But there was no way in heaven or hell that he would be able to climb it up to the tiny window above him.

He'd been around the base a couple times, just to make sure there wasn't a door. There wasn't. And he couldn't climb it. And unless Buffy had gone through a drastic change in hairstyle since he'd last seen her, the traditional method wouldn't work too well either. 

Oh well. He'd never been much for traditionalists. He turned his head upward.

"Oi, Slayer! Let down your bleedin' hair!!"

There was a pregnant silence. Spike cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Slayer," he bellowed upwards, "do you hear me? Slayer! Slayer! Slayer! Slayer! Slayer! Slayer!"

A blonde head appeared in the window high above him.

"Shut up!" she yelled, faintly but clearly. "I hear you!"

_Good. She's safe. Pleasant as ever, but safe._

"Well excuse a comely prince tryin' to go about his duty, pet! You don't happen to have a fire ladder up there with you, by any chance?!"

"What?!"

"I said, You don't happen to have--"

"Whatever, Spike! Just get me out of this stupid thing!"

"Right," he muttered to himself. "Better get right on that. Silly me, not thinking of it before. Get her down. It's so simple."

He craned his neck back up to look at her.

"Any suggestions?"

"What??"

"_HOW, LUV??"_

"You're the knight! You figure it out!"

The head dissappeared.

Spike uncraned his neck. "One solution comes to mind," he grumped. "Bloody stupid little scenario. Bleedin' obvious symbolism..."

He looked around him for anything he could use to reach the pretty pretty princess.

...A _lot_ of grass.

"This in't gonna work."

@@@

"How could this possibly work? There's no way he's gonna get up here!"

Vadas calmly watched Buffy pace her prison. "Then perhaps you should help him."

She spun. "How? There isn't anything here that even _resembles_ rope."

She recieved another one of the long, measuring looks she was quickly growing accustomed to. "This _is_ your mind."

"Yeah. And I'm _trapped here_! Remember?? Repunzel Bar--." She stopped. "Why do you keep saying that? Are you just naturally irritating, or is it a cryptic wise man thing?"

_"Oi, Slayer! Let down your bleedin' hair!!"  
  
_Buffy winced at the dulcet tones of her knight errant. "God, could he _be_ more obnoxious?"

"But you love him, correct?"

"Yeah, of course I do. He's still annoying." She crossed the the window and leaned out.

"Shut up! I hear you!"

She could just make out his mouth opening and closing from where he stood at the base of her tower. _Spike's in the sunshine. Pretty Spike_.

_What's he saying? _

"What??"

"I said, you don't happen to have--"  
  
"Whatever, Spike! Just get me out of this stupid thing!" She watched him gesture to himself on the ground. _He's so sexy when he's pissed off. That must be why I do it._ He yelled again, incoherently.

"_What??"_ she screamed.

_"How, luv?!"  
  
"You're the knight! You figure it out!"_

She pulled her head back inside the window. "Some knight he is. Can't even save the princess."

"Actually," Dorjan corrected amiably, "Repunzel wasn't a princess; she was she was the daughter of a peasant," came the serene reply. "The princess was the one that couldn't stand the pressure of a pea through a dozen mattresses. Repunzel was of a heartier breed."

"Isn't it cool what_ not_ inbreeding will do for your genes?" Buffy muttered off-handedly, still contemplating the not-getting-or-going-anywhere vampire outside.

She stopped.

"Outside. Spike's outside, in the sunshine." She turned to the brunette. "This place doesn't necessarily follow the rules of the real world, does it?"

"It _is_ your mind," he repeated his reminder from earlier.

"And you keep saying that. It's my mind. Can I control the environment?"

Dojan Vadas quirked his lip. "That really all depends. How much control do you have?"

"What does that mean?"

"Very few people have more than a slight modicum of control over the workings of their own heads. To exhert it, your will must not only be strong, but focused.

"Oh, I'm totally focused."

"You are," Vadas repeated, eyebrow raised. "And yet somehow you cannot gather the initiative to escape this tower."

Buffy opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by a blood-curdling roar from outside.

She ran to the window. "That was _not_ Spike."

@@@

"Uh..."

Spike was almost positive the dragon hadn't been there two minutes ago. Honestly, the sky had been clear last time he looked. But it was there now, and blocking out the sun with it's bulk. Pretty much the size of the tower, hunkered over in classic 'threatening vulture' posture, it was shaped more like a bat than anything. Nothing lizardlike about it but for the black scales covering it's body.

And it was looking at Spike.

"This is _not_ good," he muttered unnecessarily, looking for an escape. The forty-foot bat cocked it's massive head at him. It growled.

Spike squinted up at it. "Heh. _Niiiii_ce dragon." He patted his pockets. "Probably go a milk bone somewh--"

**"_Gryarrrrrrrrrrrr!"_**

"Right, that's it. _Slayer!! Get your arse down 'ere!"_

@@@

A leathery wing whipped by the window as the creature lunged, and Buffy jumped back.

"Oh my God! Spike! What the hell is that thing? No, I know what it is, it's a fifty-foot reptilian bat!" She turned terrified eyes to the man reclining on her pallet. "Did I do that?"

"Of course not. That's the demon."

_"The_ demon?"

"_Your_ demon."

_*Grayayarrrrrrrngh!*_

_"Slayer! Buff--!"_

"Oh, God, it's gonna kill him! It's gonna--"

"Probably," Dorjan Vadas cut in. "It will kill him." Buffy looked up sharply, and he favored her with another smirk.

"What are you going to do about it?"

Another roar sounded from bel--ouside.

Buffy looked to the window. She started forward, and stopped, just like she had every other time she had attempted to escape.

"Come along," Vadas groused. "Can you not even--"

There was a riiiip.

Most of Buffy's skirt fell to the floor.

"Oh."

She shook out the folds and tore at the ankle length slip until it had been brutally hemmed.

Then, with a salute to the gaping Vadas, she took a running leap out the window.

@@@

Desperately dodging the claws of the gargantuan, flailing demon, Spike missed Buffy's swan dive off the tower. Again.

But it was fairly impossible to miss the creature's screech of pain. Spike looked up, and up.

"Buffy!" 

Buffy the Vampire Slayer was clinging to one of the demon's earflaps, kicking it in the head whenever its frantic flailing brought her into range.

"Oh, sh--" He ran to avoid a clawed fist the size of an elevator, then launched himself at it at the last moment.

_I'm insane._ He scrambled as high as he could on the eerily reptilian wrist while the demon was distracted by the Slayer swinging from his ear.

Then, with a muffled curse, he vamped and buried his fangs as far as he could into the meaty flesh on the underside of it's limb.

Buffy gasped as the demon roared in fury, nearly blacking out at the sound explosion. The only reason she didn't fall off was the sudden cessation of head shaking from the beast. She cautiously opened an eye.

The demon had brought his wrist close to his face, and was watching with interest as ...Spike drank it's blood?

"Spike!" _What the _hell_ is he doing?? _ The vampre looked up, and stared at her for a second, dark blue blood oozing from his mouth. Then he realized where he was, and leapt from his perch into the thing's face.

The demon roared again and frantically shook its head, sending Buffy flying in another wild circle. She clung for dear life _Oh God. I think I'm gonna hurl._

"Slayer! Hang on!" There was another roar from the beast, then "No, Buffy, let go! Let go!"

Buffy emerged from her panicked, near regurgitative state long enough to register the order and dismiss it as idiocy. She was nearly fifty feet in the air! That was _not_ a fun way to go.

"Slayer! Now!"

_Uhn-uh. No way._

"DO IT!!"

  
With a mental curse for her own status as love's bitch, Buffy let go.

_Oh, hell, she actually did it,_ was Spike's first thought when he saw Buffy plummeting towards the ground. He'd counted on a couple seconds of hesitation on her part when he'd timed it out, just before he'd plunged his armour shard knife into the demon's eye up to his own elbow.

Buffy was still dropping like a stone. Spike did the only thing a gentleman _could_ do.

He jumped after her.


	32. Spike White, the Idiot

**  
Chapter Thirty~Two: Once upon a time, Spike White was an idiot.__**

Ground, ground, rushing up./Parts go squish and skulls go thump--This is not the time!   
  
Oh.   
  
Shit...  
  
*Thud*  
  
_ ...Black..._  
  
**   
...The demon roared and flailed its wings in massive arcs, though how much of that was voluntary and how much was death jerkings was unclear.  
  
Actually, a lot of stuff was unclear.  
  
Starting with who she was and where they were.  
  
Buffy sat up slowly. _Oh, God. I feel like I jumped off a high dive into an empty pool. _She squinted above her, and registered the thrashing colossus. 

"That's not a high dive..." _No, it's a 'falling-right-towards-me'! Move, idiot, move!!_ She rolled to her feet as fast as her disorienting nausea allowed. That's when she realized she'd been lying on something other than grass.  
  
"Oh, God, Spike!" she wailed. _No no no no no. Why does this always happen?? _

He was a mess. He'd obviously broken her fall with his own body, and by the looks of it, that hadn't been the best plan ever. Even a cursory glance identified several joints that really shouldn't be there. Her nervous, coasting hands detected countless more suspicious bends and rising bumps. 

_ Oh God. I really did break every bone in his body...  
  
_She glanced up. The shadow of the staggering bat was looming ever closer. Any minute that thing was going to topple in a landing of lake making proportions. Buffy grabbed Spike's arm and pulled.  
  
"C'mon, you big asshole! You don't get to just lie there and get squashed!" She tried desperately to ignore the crackling quality of her tugs, with little success. "--Jerk!" Spike's head lolled back.  
  
Another squawk from above, ending in a gurgle. Maybe that stupid thing was finally realizing there was a shin-plate through it's brain. Buffy grabbed the fallen vampire and hauled him up into her own shaky arms with a heart-curdling crunch.  
  
"Idiot--" she puffed, still regaining her breath. "--jerk-off! Dumb-ass vampire martyr..." She hooked his unnaturally bending legs around her neck and redoubled her efforts in getting them the hell out of the landing strip.Matters were not helped by the intense pain that accosted her midsection with each step.  
  
_ Great. _More _ broken ribs._ _Just what I--  
  
_There was sudden gust of wind that nearly knocked her off her feet, followed by a massive crunching _smack_ and a shaking of the earth.  
  
Buffy whirled around. The face of the demon bat was not five feet from them. She jumped back, almost dropping her load.  
  
" _Ho_ly..." _Okay. Okay. It's dead. The fact that it's beady little ...metre-wide eyes are open means nothing._ One of said eyes had been skewered, and was oozing clear, gummy liquid. She backed away several staggered steps.  
  
"You are _sooo_ ugly."  
  
Turning away from the macabre corpse, Buffy dropped to her knees, and eased her vampire to the ground. "...Spike..." She finally noticed the blood. She looked down at her hands.  
  
_Spike... _

"Slayer."  
  
She looked up. She sighed. "What the hell do _you_ want?  
  
"Nothing," Vadas replied. He nodded at the giant bat corpse. "Good work. You've conquered your demons. One of them, anyway."  
  
"It wasn't me."  
  
"Ah, right. Your vampire friend."  
  
Buffy could have killed him, if she'd thought for a second that he was real. Instead she spat at him. "In case you hadn't noticed, I've got a fractured dead guy here!"  
  
The Hungarian's gaze landed on the vampire lying in the spreading patch of matted red grass.  
  
"You broke him?"  
  
"No! Yes! ...Kinda!" Buffy bit her lip and placed a hand on Spike's shoulder. "Not intentionally."  
  
"I think he's dead."  
  
"Of course he's dead, shithead! But he's _not_ dust. Maybe, if it doesn't _strain_ you, you could help me set the bones!"  
  
Vadas sighed. "Do you hear _nothing?_"  
  
_ I am _not_ in the mood for this._ "What are you talking about?"  
  
He spread his arms. "This realm bows to your will!"  
  
She glared up at his face. "You told me I didn't have the _control_ to change anything," she said dangerously. _Surely he's real enough to get his ass kicked.  
  
_"You have the control. You don't have the focus. Or," he glanced at Spike. "...you _didn't_."  
  
"Ungh--ASSHOLE!"  
  
"Perhaps." He smiled. "I'l just leave you two to discuss it." He took a step back, and started fading into the scenery.  
  
"No! You bastard, don't--!" She sighed. "--go. Great," she muttered, surveying the empty landscape. "Right when you can actually be of use, you flake out on me."  
  
Buffy surveyed the pastoral view. No threats to be seen. Just her. And Spike. ...and a giant mutant bat, cooling in the sun. No excuse. She braced herself and looked down at her unconcious one true love.  
  
His face was remarkably free of bruising. That's what landing on your back'll do for you. But there was purpling around his temples, and the back of his head was slick with clotting blood when she hooked her palm under his skull and eased him into her lap.  
  
"Shit..." Buffy laughed the desperate laugh of the prematurely mourning. "You look lik e hell! Glory's got _nothing_ on me..."   
  
She smoothed a reddened lock of hair off his forehead. "I need a new nickname. Maybe 'Widowmaker.'" She paused. "Oh, what, you want me to stop bragging and focus? Well, maybe if you'd wake _up_, I could do something about that."  
  
She --_very--_ lightly whapped his cheek. "As it is, I don't think I'm really in the mood for yoga-thoughts."  
  
_ This is..._ "You know, just once I'd like to _not_ have this happen. It's like every guy that gets near me gets the shit beaten out of him." _Oh wait. That's literal.  
_

"Some knight in shining armour you are," she muttered, going on the offensive. "After all, _I'm_ supposed to be the one.." she trailed off. _ Don't think too loud, Summers. The universe might hear and smack you down.  
  
_She stared at Spike's oddly-tense face. "Once upon a time," she whispered, stroking his brow, "there was a brave and handsome prince..." she snorted and wiped an eye, "...and you kicked his ass and called him a poufter. Whatever that means."   
  
_Let's try that again.  
_   
"Once upon a time, there was a ...beautiful princess..." She focused on Spike's face, and found herself unable to hold the mood. Her head fell. "...and she kicked your ass. Sorry, sorry. Okay." She forced her eyes shut.  
  
"Once upon a time," she said slowly, "there was a dashing antihero archetype blonde that got his ass kicked by the world and the women he loved." _That's one for the Brothers Grimm._  
  
"And then he got over it," she risked a gentle hand on his cheekbone, but kept her eyes closed, "and started fighting back. And the cruel, evil, mean-spirited, hateful," _but I digress, "_...slow-on-the-uptake princess finally heard you."  
  
She swallowed. "But it was too late." _Because even if you're really slow on the uptake, too, even you have your limits._  
  
"But for some reason, you, _he_, still fought with the princes--(you know what? Let's just call me the knight, instead.) He still fought beside the knight ...girl, even when he didn't love her. Even when she pissed him off. Even when she," she gulped, "even when she kept throwing herself at you, when you _obviously_ didn't want her. And made your life hell, and..." 

She stopped, and risked a peek. Spike was still lying impassively on the ground, unconcious. 

_ Look what I've done to you.  
_

She started again.   
  
"Once upon a time a bad man fell in love with a good girl, who didn't love him back. He fought on her side, at her side, and he went to the ends of the earth to make himself what he thought she wanted him to be. He was a good man. But she didn't love him, and eventually he faced that fact and fell out of love. Only then did the idiot-girl catch on to what she'd been missing, but it was too late. Even then, he continued to fight on her side, but no longer _with_ her."  
  
_ Now the tricky part.  
  
_"And while fighting for her, the good man fell, and would not wake. And the girl, now in love, cried over him. Nothing worked to rouse him, and the girl despaired." Buffy fought to keep down the surge of hope. She bent over Spike's head and whispered the last onto his lips.  
  
"Afraid that she had lost him, the girl gave him a kiss. It was a healing touch, and the good man woke at the meeting of their lips." She pressed her lips together, and swallowed, suddenly nervous. _Dive, dive, dive!  
  
_She touched her mouth to his.  
  
@@@  
  
Spike woke to the taste of Buffy lips.  
  
_ Mm. Lips of Buffy..._  
  
Because he was mostly unconcious, he could be excused for not pulling away immediately. He could _probably_ even make a case for the way he craned his neck to deepen the kiss, what with being half-asleep and all. Not totally aware of what he was doing, right?  
  
_ God, I've missed this..._  
  
But then Buffy pulled away, and he was forced to open his eyes and acknowledge the reality of the world. She was looking down at him with bright, reddened eyes. _Is she crying?_  
  
No, she was grinning. "It worked!" 

Spike waited for further clarification, but none came. He tried a disarming smile. "Sorry, pet," he murmered. "I must've hit my head or somat. What worked?" 

Buffy turned panicked. "Oh, God, your head!" There was suddenly a hand questing through his hair. Her face regained that rare delighted expression. "It's healed!"  
  
"Healed?" Things were getting a little clearer. _Why is my head in her lap? And why... I really must have hit my head. _He struggled to get into a sitting position. _...And why am I covered in blood? I hope it's not mine. Why is Buffy covered in blood? I hope it's not ...mine._  
  
Buffy, apparently having assured herself that his skull was still in one big piece, pulled back and allowed him to sit up on the ground in front of her.   
  
"The," she nervously tapped her lips, uh, the,"   
  
"Kiss?" he prompted.  
  
Buffy blushed. "You wouldn't wake up."  
  
Spike regarded her with surprise. "And only the kiss of the handsome princess could wake me?"  
  
Buffy looked chastened, but met his incredulous gaze. "Yes? Vadas said it was my mind, I just needed to focus and I can bend it to--"  
  
"Wait a mo. Who said?"  
  
Buffy waved a dismissing hand. "Oh, this asshole that was up in the tower with me. Georgian, or something."  
  
"Dorjan? Dorjan Vadas?"  
  
"Mm-hm," she nodded. "Mostly he just pissed me off. I wonder how we get out of here..."  
  
"Buffy, Dorjan Vadas is the vampire you've teamed up with to take over the world."  
  
"Yeah." She bit her lip. She looked up. "You probably didn't have any real plan when you came in after me, did you?"  
  
"...Not as such."  
  
"So we don't know how to get out?"  
  
"'Ey now! You're little miss spiritual healing. Can't you just," Spike waved his arms vaguely, "zip us out?"  
  
_ Stupid--_ "No, idiot. Haven't you been on enough epic quests already to know it's never that simple?"  
  
"Ooh, _epic_. Some ego you've got there, Slayer."  
  
_Slayer. --What are you, Buffy?--_"Bite me, Spike." __

"Oh, if only," Spike spat. "If. Only."  
  
Suddenly, Buffy sat back on her heels. "God! This is so prepubescent! _I_ know you don't want to be here. I'm sure I'll be so in debt to Giles after this is over--"  
  
Spike waved her silent. "What'dyou mean, Giles? What's the bar tender got to do with anything?" 

Buffy shook her head. "I'm not going to kid myself that you would come in here after me without some serious 'motivation'," she performed air quotes, "from Giles. Don't worry," she added, "I'll say thank you to you, too."  
  
Spike opened his mouth to correct her, but stopped, unable to think of a good excuse for his self-motivation. "Yeah, well..." he muttered, looking down.  
  
But Buffy had moved past the issue, and was now stretching.  
  
Spike squinted up at her into the bright blue sky. "What're you wearing, anyway?"  
  
Buffy stopped her twisting and looked down at her ensomble. Her chest was enclosed in a pink and gold-stitched corset affair, and her incautious hemming had left her with a tutu skirt, now plastered to her bare legs with Spike's blood. "What? Haven't you been to New York lately? The blood-spattered ice dancer look is in." Off Spike's eyebrow, she shrugged. "I don't deal well with big skirts." 

"I seem to recall that. One fine Halloween night, a lovely damsel in pink..." 

"Bite me, Spike."  
  
"If on--"  
  
"Ack! We're doing it again!" Buffy kicked his foot and walked off. "C'mon. Let's go find the exit."  
  
Spike watched her for a second before jumping up and following on strangely sore legs.

@@@  
  
Chapter title was semi-stolen from the Queen of Parody: Robyn the Snowshoe Hare. No, I didn't ask first, but note the nifty credit I've included.  
  
This one's almost wrapped up, folks. One or two more chapters, and we'll have a nice, neat resolution on our hands.  
  
~Star Mouse 


	33. The Creamy Center

**Chapter Thirty~Three: The Creamy Center**

  
"How long've we been walking? Feels like ages."

Buffy sighed. "It can't have been more than half an hour."

Spike plucked at the fabric of his black shirt. It was plastered to his chest with sweat. "'S bloody hot out here." He kicked up dirt. "Like the surface of Mercury."

"You're just not used to the pretty sunshine yet," Buffy replied. A smile quirked at her mouth. "I can't wait to see if you freckle."

"Ha ha," Spike muttered, scanning the barren, pastoral landscape. It looked remarkably like the landscape from half an hour ago.

"Looking for a flashing red 'EXIT' sign?"

"Actually? Yeah." He glanced back at the Slayer and caught her eyes darting away from his face. He chose to overlook it. "There must be some way _out_ of this hellhole."

"The hellhole that is my mind?"

Spike started to snark back, but bit his tongue just in time to stop himself. He started off again. The more space there was between them, the less confusing things got. _What I need is a few hours away from Princess Charming to get my sanity back to full power. Can't be held responsible for my actions under all this stress._

  
Buffy frowned at his lack of response, watching him walk away. Was the situation really _that_ hopeless? Sure, she'd called an end to the pointless banter, but... She could always get a response from him one way or another. Vice versa. If he was that numbed to her to not even care anymore... ----

Warm artificial lights. Linoleum beneath her feet.

"Buffy! Don't be mad!" 

"Why would I be~"

"Spike's back. And he's begging to see you."-----

  
Buffy blinked. Sunlight. Grass prickling her shins. The memory had been so real, it took Buffy a second to realize she wasn't in her kitchen, heart pounding as she watched Willow nervously bite her lip.

"What the--" she heard from in front of her. _Spike. He saw it too?_

She suddenly jerked as the world around her, the fields, the sun, the retreating vampire, blinked away, replaced by a cinderblocked alley.

It was night.

She looked around her, a tingle of worried anticipation running through.

"Um...." _Okay. Dream theater routine. I can handle this. No mindtrap virgin here._

"Will you stop following me??"

Buffy's eyes widened at the angry voice, and she realized where she was. _Oh, shit._

"Buffy--"

But she knew the plea wasn't directed at her. Not _her_ her, anyway. She turned into the alley. _Oh, God, no. This can't..._

"I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hurt you, Spike. But if you don't stop _following me around!"_

"Christ, Summers, will you just listen to me for once in your life??"

An incensed, white-sweatered Buffy whirled on the approaching Spike. "No, you listen to me!" she hissed. "This has gone on for too .damned .long, and I'm sick of it, Spike! I really really am. I was sick of it last year, I was sick of it the year before, and--"she stopped, and appeared to be doing a mental tally, "--and I was sick of it the year before that! You've been torturing me for _years_, Spike, and you never go away!" She pointed fiercely at him. "And do you know why??"

"Because I _love you!!" _he roared. Removed Buffy felt a chill, and saw a tense-looking Spike standing in the shadows behind the one proclaiming his love. _Oh no. No, don't make me watch this again. Don't remind him all the reasons he hates me._

"No you DON'T!" Buffy screamed back. "Wake up and smell the psychobabble, Spike. We're both depraved."

The incongruity of it was enough to distract him. "What the bleedin' hell are you talking about?"

"Haven't you figured it out? Don't you see why it hurts so much? We're both masochists, Spike. You hurt yourself by chasing me, and I hurt myself by letting you think you're gaining. We're nothing but extensions of each other's neuroses, can't you _see that??"  
_  
_Buffy covered her eyes against the pain. Across the way, Spike winced at the remembered ache._

They both took a step back, and she shook her head, turning to go. "Freud would have a fucking field day," she muttered.

Spike wasn't about to let it go at that. "That's not all this is," he growled, grabbing her arm and swinging her back. 

He never saw the blow coming, didn't even realize what had happened until he'd slammed into the brick wall and slid down to the concrete ground. He touched his bleeding nose and stared up at Buffy in shock.

"Yes .it .is."

And his face hardened in the face of her hardness. 

"Yeah. Maybe you're right."

  
  
She left him there, but her counterpart continued to stare at the place where she'd stood.

...Until it began to dissolve around her.

  
Sunshine. Grass. An annoying abundance of both.

Buffy blinked, and fell to her knees. "What the hell was that?"

"Refreshing," came the answering voice. She looked up to see a furrowed-brow Spike. "Looks like your head's a bit more twisted up than originally anticipated, doesn't it?"

"Spike..."

He held up a hand. "Save it for the Real World, pet. It's probably all jollies for you in here, but I'd like to get the fuckout as quickly as is superhumanly possible."

He about-faced and started walking away.

For several seconds, Buffy had to stay where she was and digest the plot. She had just gone from aloof Spike to pleading Spike and back again, and her head was spinning. But one thing had become abundantly clear:

This was absolutely ridiculous.

_And it has to stop._

And fast.

She started moving.

"Spike! Wait!" She jogged to catch up, heart pumping with the exhilaration of decision. _I've had it with this emotional gamut game. It ends now._

The vampire turned to face her, eyebrow arched. _It starts now._

"Yes, Princess?" _Why can't you just stay at a reasonable distance? Can't you see I can't think with you here?_

"Cut it," she snapped. "We need a blowdry, a-sap-y, before the attack of the flashbacks strikes again."

Spike furrowed . "Blow--?"

"Airing out," she impatiently untwisted her stress-induced metaphor. "A trip to wide-open-spaces, because the oh-so-fun 'contents under pressure' game is getting a little too painful."

Inside, Spike was slightly impressed. _Pressing the issue? That's not like m-our little Buffy. _Outwardly, though, he sought to show no sign of reaction. "Alright," he conceded, spreading his arms. "Ladies and Slayers first."

Buffy took a breath. _I feel some angst coming on._ "I--" 

Spike waited a few seconds, then cocked a brow. "You..."

She stomped the ground. "What do you want me to say?"

"Me? You're the one that instigated the share session."

She shook her head in an irritation that baffled him. "But you know what _I'm_ going to say! _You're_ the one being the emotional bottleneck! _You _go first."

_Nooo way. No Pandoras getting in _this_ box._ "Nah. You."

"You!"

"_You."_

Buffy felt the pressure building. Soon she'd either have to hit something or scream.

"You!"

"You."

"YOU!"

"You!"

She stomped her foot again, and capitulated. "I love you, dammit! Do you have any idea what that's like?? Why are you making this so hard?"

Spike gave her a disbelieving look before turning skyward. "Dozy bint! Do you even realize what you're SAYING??" His eyes went back to her. "How can you act righteous about this, you--you..." He trailed off, apparently having exhausted his female euphemisms.  
Tears sprang to her eyes. "I love you!"

"And I loved you!" he yelled, cutting her short. Both stood gasping for a second, less than a foot apart. "It meant nothing!" he said fiercely. "Nothing I did meant _anything_, and now it's your time and you want me along for the ride?" He straightened. "Like hell. I'm not going through _that_ hell coaster another time. Even _if_--" he stopped, gained composure. Shook his shaking finger in her face.

"_Nothing_," he whispered violently, "_no-bloody-thing_ is worth the torture of being your lapdog." And a little voice inside him whispered, _Yeah, just keep telling yourself that, Spike._

It seemed like a pretty final statement.

But Buffy had caught the slip, didn't care what it meant, just that it was _there_ and one thing was rushing through her mind at that moment, staring into the vampire's furious eyes:__

Hope. 

"But I don't want a lapdog."

She saw the confusion flit across his brow before he sighed. "Then what the hell _do _you want, Summers? What does it take to make you happy, so I can find it, and kill it, and lay it at your feet, and make all this madness stop?" _If she says 'you' ; so help me--_

_Don't say 'you.' How cliched can you get?_

Then she realized what she wanted to say.

"I want--" 

She felt the earth shift around her. 

"No! Not now! Not--"--

"Well, yeah, Buff, I heard she was back, but I didn't tell you because I really didn't think you'd care. I mean, what harm can Harmony possibly do?"--

Sunlight. Buffy blinked at Spike, who seemed a little confused. 

The rushing sensation returned.

_--A graveyard at night. She falls to the dirt, and briefly considers not getting back up.--  
_  
Sunlight. Spike's eyes on hers.

"Buf--"

_--The kitchen, her hands in dishwater, scraping the remains of scrambled eggs off the pan with her fingernails, she catches a flash of white on the porch, and knows he's there.--  
_  
Sunlight.

"--fy. What the hell is go--"

_--Watching herself standing in front of her mirror, dressing for patrol. She frowns critically at her outfit, then wonders what she's doing. Near the mirror, Spike is looking around, wondering why he is seeing this.--_

Sunlight. The sensations shifting beneath her feet made her stagger, and she fell into Spike's arms. She was slightly surprised when he actually caught her in them.

She felt the world dissolving around her yet again, and gripped his head, forcing Spike to look at her before it was too late, and they were forced back into the past.

Staring into his eyes, she whispered fiercely:

"I want to be what you need."_  
_--  
and then everything was gone in a blaze of white.

@@@

Her bedroom.

Buffy was sitting indian style at the foot of her bed, staring at the headboard. The stereo was on, and a disc was spinning optimistically in its cradle, but the volume had been turned off. The room was muted.

But then a sob ripped the papery silence, followed by another.

The other Buffy --the one watching from the doorway like Ebenezer at the schoolhouse-- emitted a sympathetic squeak as her doppelganger's face twisted in a effort to hold the pain inside.

She remembered this. She knew what this was. This was The Moment.

People tell you that it's invisible, indefinable, that moment you don't just _fall _into love, but _land_ in it.

Bullshit.

A year ago she'd felt it, and now she was watching it again. She remembered. It had corresponded exactly with the first gut-wrenching sob.

One to recognise the painful landing.  
One to affirm her location.  
...The rest to regret the timing.

On the bed, the Slayer tipped over onto her side and curled into the fetal position, shoulders quaking violently, but silent once more.

The only sound was the crystal crinkle of a newborn heart breaking.

_Too late. I'm too lateNot. He. I'm. Oh God Oh God. Why am I such a fucking idiot? Why Why Why Why Why Why Why Why Why Why Why! I'm too late._

The weeping Buffy's thought's echoed in the voyeur Buffy's head. _Too late. Too late. Too late._

"Too late," came the responding mutter. Buffy caught a flash of black, and glanced up to see Spike flickering in and out of the opposite corner of the room. He was watching her twin with a furrowed brow.

An irrational embarrassment bubbled up in her. _He can't watch this! He has no right to be in my room at a time like this!_

Then she realized.

He had every right.

It was the Spike Show.

There was another hiccupping wail, and she turned away.

Spike couldn't stop staring.

Without having to wonder, he knew what he was watching. He vaguely remembered the outfit she'd been wearing that night, but it was more than that. He was standing in the squishy center, where Buffy let down her guard. Where she had no reason to hide her thoughts. Everything was ringing loud and clear.

_Too late. I lost him. Too late._

The night she'd gone too far. She'd left him on the ground, his ears ringing with her parting words, and that had been when he'd stopped chasing.

But, he was slowly beginning to realize, watching the pitiful curled figure on the bed, that really was all he'd stopped doing. The urge to reach out and pull her to him was almost overwhelming. And he was suddenly running out of reasons not to.

Reasons numbered zero when the other Buffy sank to her knees on the floor, and joined her twin in sobbing. Two choruses now rent the air.

_Too late. Too late. Too late._

The room dissolved around them, and he was left in the sunshine with one crying Slayer curled in the grass.

He could still hear her internal chorus. _Too late. Too late_.

No longer able to stop himself, he fell to his knees next to her and pulled her into his arms. Unthinkingly, she turned in his grip and wrapped herself around him, clinging with the strength of the weeping.

"Too late," she gasped out between hiccuping sobs. "I'm too late, I really--" she choked off into his shoulder.

His hand tightened it's grip on the back of her head. God, this felt so good. How could he think this was wrong? This was what had been missing. This was what he needed.

She was what he needed.

_What the lady wants, the lady gets._

He tried to gently pry her arms from around his neck, so he could see her face. When that didn't work, he gave her a hard yank, and she came free.

She seemed to come to herself, then, and backed away, sniffing. "Sorry. I just..."

Spike grabbed her shoulders to keep her from pulling any further away. Her palpable confusion made him positively gleeful. Or maybe it was just the euphoria of finally letting his emotions out to play. He put his hands to her cheeks, rubbing at her tears with his thumbs.

"I'm a fool," he murmured.

Buffy's brows drew together in confusion. "What?" she gasped, still racked by the abating sobs.

He pulled her face closer, so that their foreheads bumped together. She was shocked to see tears in his eyes. _What's he doing?_

"Spike?"

"No," he answered.

"What?" She tried to pull away to see him better, but he held her fast. Her heart started beating more quickly.

"No," he repeated, letting her back a few inches so that they could focus on each others' eyes. "It's not too late."

And before Buffy could completely register what he meant, Spike swooped in the few inches between them and captured her lips in a kiss free of pain.

@@@  
@@@

  
I'm easily distracted. Forgive me.

~starmouse 


End file.
